


Snake Cottage, or Snottage,

by Quilly



Series: Snake Home, or Snome, [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Flirt to Distract Your Bosses, Found Family, Kid Fic, Light Angst, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shapeshifting, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), but the kids are snakes, child endangerment, wiggleverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-01-30 02:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: When life gives you snake babies, you make a home.A series of vignettes from the Wiggleverse in the South Downs.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Snake Home, or Snome, [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591507
Comments: 270
Kudos: 592
Collections: Wiggleverse





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Which a Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492753) by [OlwenDylluan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan). 
  * Inspired by [Snake Children, or Snildren,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872916) by [Quilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly). 

> Welcome! Here is the dumping grounds for my various thoughts about Aziraphale and Crowley taking their snabies to live in the South Downs. I could have called it "Snake House" but "Snottage" is funnier and the fic is about kids, so. 
> 
> Thanks to the ineffable OlwenDylluan for letting me use her snake babs and for being so cool. My idea and her idea of the South Downs life will be a little different, I imagine, but they should mesh fairly well. Just think of it as two slightly alternate universes from each other that overlap a lot.
> 
> Chapters will be in a loose chronological order; if it's important to know when exactly a chapter is taking place, it'll say so in the author's notes.

Crowley and Aziraphale made sure the house was completely ready before moving the snakelets. It would be stressful enough to change their environment without inviting disaster via stacks of boxes and unpacking.

The cottage was quite a bit bigger than Aziraphale had initially intended when he first began to daydream about it, but concessions had to be made. Though it made him nervous, it was a two-story affair, the upper floor being dedicated to bedroom space for the children. With no telling which form they preferred, or would prefer, both he and Crowley felt it best to prepare for all eventualities.

“Angel, would you relax? It’s fine,” Crowley chided quietly as they stood in the hallway outside of five little bedrooms, each housing a bed with trunks at the feet and little side tables on the left.

“I just—I don’t want to forget anything,” Aziraphale fretted, poking his head in every door to make sure the snake terrariums were all secure and ready, resting on desks in each room. “What if this was a mistake and the children hate it? What if there’s hawks or owls that get too close? Or—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, putting his hands on his heaving shoulders, “_breathe_. It’s alright. We already thought of all that. Every possible precaution has been taken. Just…take a breath, alright?”

Aziraphale matched his breathing to Crowley’s, trying to calm the storm inside himself. Crowley was right, of course, and he knew they were doing their best. It was all just a little…frightening.

“I’m gonna go get the kids,” Crowley said gently. “Walk me to the door?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled, and let Crowley lead him back downstairs.

“They’re going to be excited and shouty and wanting to go everywhere and explore everything,” Crowley said as he made for the front door. “So…er…showtime, I suppose?”

“Showtime,” Aziraphale nodded, staying in the front doorway and watching Crowley go to the Bentley to gather their sleeping brood. The drive had quite tired them out, poor things; even Datura, who had inherited their father’s deeply unfortunate speed demon streak, had succumbed to the warm sun and gently rumbling interior. Crowley hefted their travel carrier in his hands and carefully walked it to the front gate. Then he hissed into the carrier.

“Wake up, spawn,” Aziraphale heard him say. “We’re here.”

Aziraphale smiled as he heard five little voices start to jabber excitedly from inside the carrier, and made sure he was well within view as Crowley started walking them down the front path. “Welcome home, my darlings,” Aziraphale cooed when they were close enough.

_Can we get out? I want to explore!_ Junior cried.

“I think while we’re first showing you the house, you lot had better stay snakey,” Crowley said, setting the carrier down and working on unlatching it. “Azirafather and I’ll carry you around, show you the whole place, and once you’ve seen it all, you can pick out your rooms and run wild like little hooligans. Alright?”

There was a chorus of assent, and Aziraphale stooped to let Rosa, Angelica, and Clem wind up his arms and settle—Rosa around his neck, Angelica hanging out of his breast pocket, and Clem held in his arms. Crowley got Junior and Datura and thus laden, began the tour. They showed the children around the open living room and dining area, the spacious kitchen, the French doors opening onto the enormous back yard overflowing with plants and flowers. They showed off the conservatory, and the apple trees making a small orchard in a back corner. They took them around the low stone walls marking the edge of their property, and then back inside to point out where their bedroom was (just off the kitchen), and then began to ascend the stairs.

“The whole top floor is for you lot,” Crowley said, and five little snakes wiggled and hissed with excitement. Aziraphale grinned. Once they were in the upper hall, Aziraphale knelt and let his charges down, Crowley following suit.

“Alright, children,” Aziraphale said, “you each have a bedroom to yourselves. Go pick them out!”

_I want this one!_ Junior hollered as he beelined for the nearest door, and the rest took off like a shot choosing rooms. There was a brief tussle over who got the room that had a patch of sunlight slanting across the bed currently, and some confusion when Clem nosed his way into the bathroom rather than a bedroom, but soon enough all five rooms were happily occupied.

_May we change, Father?_ Rosa asked from her doorway. _I want to start decorating!_

“Decorating with what?” Crowley frowned.

_Azirafather, can you make the bedspread blue?_

_I want to make a “keep out” sign!_

_Can I put my basket on the window ledge?_

“We still haven’t shown them the basement,” Aziraphale said quietly as the children chattered. “Or told them about the wards.”

“I think we can let them have a little while to get used to the space before we get into the heavy stuff,” Crowley murmured back. “I have a feeling we’re about to get swamped with a big shopping list in a moment.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, children, if you want to change you can,” he said, and four out of five snakes became children, a little bigger than they had been when they first learned how to pull off that trick. The sight of it knocked some of the breath from Aziraphale’s lungs for a variety of reasons (they were growing so fast, they looked so much like Crowley and himself, he didn’t need to use a miracle to understand them—), and he leaned into Crowley’s side. Crowley put an arm around his waist and kissed his temple. Aziraphale let himself rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder for a moment, and then succumbed to his children’s beseeching for minor cosmetic changes to their abodes, allowing himself to be dragged by the hand into each room.

Later, sitting on a very different garden wall and watching their own new life run and scream and play in the grass, Aziraphale let Crowley lean into him this time, holding his hand and feeling his extremely full heart thump in his chest.

“I don’t know about you,” Crowley said, “but this is the last thing I would have expected from life for us when we stood up on that blasted wall.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale chuckled. “God works in mysterious ways.”

“Oh, don’t bring Her into it, you’ll attract Her attention,” Crowley grumbled without heat. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Aziraphale replied, and sighed in deep contentment. A bizarre turn of events, certainly, but not unwelcome in the slightest.


	2. Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Gabriel, Beelzebub, gross flirting, and panic attacks.
> 
> (Edit: made some light cosmetic changes since I was in such a rush to post everything this morning. Just zizzed up Beelzebub's language a bit and made some minor grammatical edits.)

“Crowely,” Aziraphale called from the front door, “we have company.”

Crowley froze mid-tickle, Datura breathless under one arm. If someone was there for innocent reasons, Aziraphale would have 1) definitely already opened the door, and B) said they had visitors or guests. “Company” was reserved for a very specific set of circumstances.

“Snakes,” Crowley said, his voice low and deadly serious as he took in his various offspring and set Datura down. “All of you, right now.”

“Father—” Junior protested, and Crowley hissed at him fiercely. There were three immediate pops and now five very confused snakelings, who knew the order but still weren’t old enough to really understand why.

“Down to the basement,” Crowley said, flattening himself to the ground and pawing for the false vent cover under the couch. “Don’t argue, don’t make a sound. Just go, and stay down there until Azirafather or I say it’s safe.”

_Okay, Father_, Angelica said, and nudged a sullen-looking Junior as she took the lead of the pack of snakelets.

_Father, what’s happening?_ Rosa asked, and Crowley plastered on a smile.

“Hopefully nothing, but better safe than sorry,” he said.

_Please be safe,_ Clem said softly as he followed his siblings down into the vent.

“I’ll be fine,” Crowley promised, and waited for the last scaly tail to disappear down into the escape hatch to their very secure basement. He replaced the vent cover, then miracled away dust bunnies and sauntered to the front door. It was opening now, Aziraphale throwing a look his way that said a lot of things—fear, anger, determination, anxiety.

“What seems to be the trouble, angel?” Crowley asked as the door swung open, and felt every fiber and cell in his being rise in a snarl at the sight of the Archangel Gabriel and Lord Beelzebub standing on their welcome mat. Aziraphale’s smile as he trained it outward was strained. “Ah.”

“Hello,” Gabriel chirped, looking cheerful and pompous in that way he did. “Kinda rude to just leave us hanging here, Aziraphale.” The smile he trained on Aziraphale was his patented “I am Disappointed in You” grin, which Crowley had gotten his fill of during Aziraphale’s trial. Crowley didn’t bother hiding his eyes or the growl in the back of his throat, slipping a protective arm over Aziraphale’s shoulders. Gabriel barely glanced at him and returned his full attention to Aziraphale. Beelzebub was looking at Gabriel with a sour expression.

“Are you going to invite us in?” Gabriel hinted.

“No,” Aziraphale said firmly. “What do you want?”

“There’s been reports of odd activity in the area,” Beelzebub said, casually digging in zir ear and flicking zir finger in Gabriel’s direction; Gabriel flinched and a miracle incinerated the offending matter before it could make contact with his impeccable suit. “Naturally we thought we’d question the two oddest beings in creation. Bit of a coincidenczze, isn’t it, all those pops of unchecked energy right where you two are…” Beelzebub cast zir eyes round about the inside of the cottage and sneered, “…neszzzting.”

“Since you’re here and all,” Gabriel smiled, his eyes cold, “care to tell us about what’s been going on?”

“What kind of odd activity?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley gave into his least-explosive panic instinct and wrapped both arms around Aziraphale’s middle, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Plastering himself to his angel had a twofold benefit: the sight of them so close together caused Gabriel to turn puce and Beelzebub to grimace, and the skin-to-skin contact and heavy weight of Aziraphale leaning back into him helped ground Crowley in the moment, helped him prioritize. It had been such a nice day, before.

“We’re not sure,” Gabriel said around a face that looked like it was smelling Beelzebub’s favorite meal. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Our best guess is some kind of transformation frenzy,” Beelzebub scowled.

Crowley grinned and put his mouth close to Aziraphale’s ear. “Think you can figure out what kind of changes we’re making for yourselves, can’t you?” Crowley punctuated this by closing his teeth on the lobe of Aziraphale’s ear; for his part, Aziraphale gave a little wiggle and a moan that sounded nothing like what he did when actually aroused.

“See,” Beelzebub said loudly as Gabriel backed from the door and retched, “see, that’s what I szzaid, at first.”

“Sometimes as many as four transformations an hour is a little—excessive,” Gabriel said unsteadily, bearing down on the door again. Crowley felt Aziraphale dig his fingers into his wrist, but as Crowley was not peeled off, Crowley took that as a sign to lock eyes with Gabriel and start sucking wet, open-mouthed kisses down the side of the neck tilting obligingly sideways for him.

“As you can see,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, “It’s—it’s quite a necessary thing, keeping—oh, Crowley—keeping him occupied.”

“Call it what it is, angel,” Crowley purred, and applied a little teeth to leave a livid red spot just under Aziraphale’s pulled-aside collar. He grinned at Gabriel as Aziraphale moaned again, a little more realistically this time. “An extraordinary ravishing.”

“Okay,” Gabriel said, looking truly nauseous. “You know what—I’m sorry I asked.”

“I’m not,” Aziraphale panted, curling his fingers into Crowley’s hair as Crowley laughed throatily into Aziraphale’s skin and worried at the bite mark with his tongue.

“Your stamina is impressive, if that’s all thisz iszz,” Beelzebub said impassively as Gabriel stomped up the path to stand by the front gate. Zir penetrating pale eyes roved over intertwined angel and demon, and Crowley had the sense that even the two of them going at it right there against the front door wouldn’t deter Beelzebub’s scrutiny. He accordingly retreated by degrees, instead planting a quick, chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek as he wrapped up the show.

“I’m an impressive demon,” Crowley replied. Beelzebub snorted. “If there wasn’t anything else you needed, then angel, did you still want me to fold that laundry?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, darling,” Aziraphale said, kissing Crowley on the mouth and then on the nose. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” Crowley said, and there, that had Beelzebub making exaggerated barfing noises. Ze glared, then zir eyes flicked over Crowley’s shoulder. Ze smirked.

“Nice to see your sense of vanity is intact, anyway,” Beelzebub said, pointing with zir chin. “Most people get dogszz, you know.”

“Vanit—oh,” Crowley said, looking over his shoulder as four snakelets retreated and a fifth was a moment too slow. He laughed, a little too loudly and heartily. “Ah. Ha. Yeah. They—I just like looking at myself, you know.”

“Mm-hmm,” Beelzebub said. “Anyway. Niczze going on grossing out the pigeon, been working on him all day. He’s been inszzzufferable. Much better results this way.”

“We’re results-oriented people,” Aziraphale said, startling a laugh out of Crowley. “Good afternoon, Lord Beelzebub. If you’d excuse us…”

“Yes, furiouszz copulation, I get it,” Beelzebub said, looking amused at the space where five snake heads had been peeking. Aziraphale shut the door, then held up a finger. There was the sound of Beelzebub stomping off the porch, then the creak of the gate, then the sound of immediate bickering getting fainter. Crowley scampered to the peephole and checked. No Gabriel or Beelzebub. He closed his eyes and cast out for intruders. Nothing pinging on the radar.

Crowley sagged against the door and looked at Aziraphale, who looked as ancient and exhausted as he felt.

“That was…unexpected,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley snorted. He straightened and sighed.

“Spawn,” Crowley said, his voice hitting a Warning Note, and three guilty-looking children and two snakes turned the corner. Aziraphale took a step towards them, and Crowley held out his arm to hold him back. Aziraphale looked at him, but complied.

“What did your father and I tell you,” Crowley said in a soft, even voice, “about following instructions when we say it’s important?”

“To do it,” Angelica said in a small voice.

“Let’s—living room would be a better place for this conversation,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley let himself and the children be herded back into the living room to sit on the couch while he dealt with the mounting head of steam he was building up. Angelica, Rosa, and Junior sat cross-legged on the rug and stared at their feet, with Datura and Clem wrapping themselves up in their coils and adopting much the same expression. Every so often Junior’s eyes would flick up and then back down.

“Who were those people?” Rosa asked when the silence stretched further than Crowley intended, but he was in the middle of trying to not treat his children like his plants. He’d never wanted to scream at them more, to gather them all up and shake them and make sure they understood the magnitude of what they’d managed to just barely avoid. Aziraphale laid his hand on Crowley’s, rubbing his thumb across the back of Crowley’s hand, and Crowley made himself take deep, even breaths.

“Those were people that your father and I used to work for,” Aziraphale said simply. “They don’t like us very much, and if they knew about you—about what you are, and how much you mean to us—they would likely try to hurt you.”

“But why?” Rosa asked. “Why would they do that?”

“Because they’re—they’re—” Crowley struggled to find the correctly censored verbiage. His breath was quickening again, and he clung to Aziraphale’s hand for dear life.

“Because not too long ago, the two of us did something that was right, but that they didn’t like,” Aziraphale said gently. “They had a plan for how things were supposed to go, but the plan wasn’t for the best. We stopped it—or helped, sort of—and then managed to…er…wriggle out of trouble, I suppose you could say.”

_Were they here to hurt you?_ Datura hissed, raising their head out of their coils.

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said. “If they were, they would have tried. I think they just wanted to ask questions.”

“Were the questions about why Father keeps trying to eat you, Azirafather?” Junior asked, and Crowley snorted despite himself as Aziraphale turned bright red. He was sure his grip was painful at this point, but he couldn’t seem to let go of Aziraphale for all the world. That constant grip was all that was keeping him shackled to the moment rather than retreating into a blinding haze of rage and lashing out in response to his fear. This parenting thing was a hard gig.

“They were…more about the kinds of magic going on around here,” Aziraphale said carefully. “I suppose…oh, Crowley, if they can sense when the children transform—”

“I think we’ve got them off the trail enough to figure something out,” Crowley said grimly. “We can talk about that later. What I want to talk about is why my very intelligent children disobeyed me and nearly put themselves—nearly got—they—we—”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley against him and cradled his head against his chest, caging him in with his arms and making soothing, shushing noises as Crowley’s dam finally broke and he felt _everything_—the past fifteen minutes hit him hard, the emotional whiplash tossing him about like a rag doll. Their first encounter with Heaven and Hell since Armageddon’t, and the children had let themselves be seen. Thank the universe Gabriel was already gone and Beelzebub didn’t seem inclined to probe further, if somehow one of them had sensed something about the children—if they managed to get a hint of what they really were—

Crowley had a vague sense of the children’s voices and Aziraphale’s warm, steady hands carding through his hair while whatever he was saying rumbled in his chest and against Crowley’s skull. He focused on breathing rather than comprehending. He knew he was probably scaring them, but sometimes…sometimes a demon’s gotta do what a demon’s gotta do. Even if what a demon’s gotta do is have a panic attack.

“—sorry,” Junior was saying through tears as Crowley’s hearing filtered back in. “We won’t do it again, honest.”

_I’m scared_, Clem whimpered. _I don’t want bad people taking us away_.

“Oh, my darlings,” Aziraphale said soothingly, squeezing the nape of Crowley’s neck with one hand and reaching out to their kids with the other, “nothing is going to happen to any of you. Father and I have made sure this place is safe for us. That’s why, when either of us tell you to get to the basement, you must listen and not come back up. It shouldn’t happen very often, but it’s very important that when it does, you…well…do it.”

“Is Father going to be okay?” Angelica asked. Crowley made a vague grumbling sound and clutched Aziraphale tighter.

“Father gets overwhelmed sometimes,” Aziraphale said gently. “This was a very dangerous day for us, but we made it, and we’re safe now. Father just needs some time to process it.”

_Snuggles?_ Datura asked, and Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand transfer to his cheek.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly. “Are you well enough to be buried under our children?”

Crowley suddenly wanted nothing more. He nodded, then with a theatric pop shrunk down into snake form, unspooling himself to the carpet and wrapping his vast coils around his children. The three who were human-shaped popped down into snakes, as well, and Crowley felt the slide of scales against scales as he and the spawn turned themselves into a giant cuddly knot of snake. There was a snap, and suddenly the whole pile was in Aziraphale’s lap, soaking up that angelic heat. The children whispered to each other as they got comfortable, and Crowley let their voices wash over him without taking in what they were saying.

They’d diverted attention for now; it wouldn’t last forever. Even Heaven wasn’t so prudish as to continue to believe the little charade he and Aziraphale conducted for more than a year or two.

Strengthening wards, expanding alarm systems, maybe investing in one of those home security thingies—these thoughts floated pleasantly in Crowley’s head as he settled in for a nap with his children. They would still have to talk later and in more depth about what had happened. Maybe run a few drills, just to be safe.

For now the danger was past and the day was lovely again. Crowley made sure to curl the end of his tail around Aziraphale’s wrist before drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspo via Kisses by Starwolf69, and that one comic by Khiroptera, you know the one.


	3. Stopped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the impending angst. Mind the tags.

Crowley was in the garden when he felt it. At first, he thought it was just a ripple, some kind of involuntary body reaction to a sudden chill or some such. He yanked another couple of weeds out, then happened to glance at the very intrusive butterfly that had been flapping about his head for the past half hour.

It was frozen in flight, its wings flashing butter-yellow in the sun but utterly motionless.

Then he heard the screaming.

“Father! Father, come quick!”

“Father!”

Miracle discretion be damned. Crowley was in the garden one second, and next to a hysterical Rosa and Datura the next. Rosa was sobbing, Datura pale, both with fully snaked-out eyes, which hadn’t happened since Crowley taught them his trick of keeping them more human-looking around others.

“What’s wrong, what is it?” Crowley demanded, and Datura took off like a shot back the way they’d come—there was a stream back there that opened onto a pond, if Crowley remembered correctly, quite a nice little watering hole for the community—

“Junior—Junior can’t swim,” Rosa gasped, between her exertion from running and terrified sobs. “Angelica—we don’t know, she did something, Junior’s drowning—”

“Get Aziraphale,” Crowley ordered, and shoved Rosa towards the house before running at full speed behind his other child leading the way. He outstripped them easily, feeling the pulse of some kind of power at work, something uniquely flavored—not infernal, not divine, something in-between, something new. Crowley had caught whiffs of it whenever the kids transformed, or made some minor adjustment to their corporations (bodies, they were bodies), but he’d never felt it this strongly before. He noticed other things frozen in time—a bird, a dog, leaves stuck between the tree and the ground, and as he approached the pond, even the flow of the water had stopped. He didn’t see Clem anywhere, but he did see Angelica, who looked like she was trying to hold up something heavy, and in the center of the pond, one hand above the surface—

Walking on water was nothing. Crowley had done it in his sleep (oh, what a night that had been). Angelica was screaming, a high-pitched ceaseless thing she surely didn’t have the breath to keep sustaining but did, and Crowley would address that as soon as Junior’s head was back above water. He grasped Junior’s hand, gritted his teeth against the placid pond water, and pulled. Junior came up gasping and coughing, vomiting water and clinging to Crowley’s shirt. Crowley, for his part, was unwilling to let Junior go, but that locus of strange power was centered right on Angelica, still screaming, buckling under whatever she was doing—

Time, Crowley realized with horror, she was stopping time.

He bolted back for the shore, set Junior down as carefully as he could on his side, and knelt in front of Angelica, who was morphing from screaming to crying as soon as she saw him.

“I—I can’t put it down,” she choked, her limbs trembling. “He was—and it was so fast—I didn’t—needed it to stop, and it did, and—I can’t put it down, Father, I can’t put it down!”

“Angelica, listen to me,” Crowley said urgently, taking her face in his hands. “You can. You can do this. You have to do it slowly, but you can do it.” He could feel it now, her tiny little life force stuck like a pin in the folds of the ticking seconds, keeping this part of the world out of step with the rest. Crowley had learned the trick early on, had figured out how to steal a few moments here and there without wrecking the space-time continuum, but he never thought he’d have to teach the trick to anyone else, let alone coach them through undoing it without snapping themselves. Crowley closed his eyes and let his essence do the work.

She was trying so hard and doing so much, Crowley thought with tenderness. He could just…take it from her. The burden wouldn’t be too much for him, and he knew how to undo it safely. But she was locked into it too tightly, unable or unwilling to—as she put it—let down the flow of time into its natural state. Okay. Coaching it was, if he couldn’t do it for her.

_Relax,_ Crowley said, communicating soul to soul like he hadn’t done with anyone else but Aziraphale since before his Fall. He wished he had time to really appreciate the moment, but she was straining so hard. _First step. Relax. Let little nanoseconds go by first._

_I can’t!_ Angelica cried, her little soul writhing. Crowley infused as much comfort and confidence as he could into her.

_Baby steps. Relax. Don’t let go, just relax._

There was a heart-stopping second out of time where Crowley thought she couldn’t do it, where he thought there was a good chance he was about to lose her. Unpacking that later. Shove it down, focus. After a beat—two—three—Angelica uncoiled some, and the smallest increments of time started to flow.

_Gently. Just like that,_ Crowley said, and bit by bit Angelica loosed her hold on time itself, uncorking herself from its flow, winding back down into her own body and safely out of harm’s way. Abruptly the sounds of summer exploded around them, but Crowley had his hands full as Angelica swayed woozily.

“Tired,” she mumbled, and popped into her snake form, laying limp as a noodle in the grass. Behind him, Crowley was vaguely aware of activity, but his eyes were riveted on Angelica’s scales, gleaming faintly in the sun. Like the majority of her siblings, she was solid black, but now there was a small patch of white right on the top of her head, almost like a star. Crowley reached out with shaking hands and gathered Angelica’s coils into his arms, somehow making it to his feet and turning around.

Aziraphale was there, thank Somebody, with Clem wrapped around his shoulders and Datura and Rosa clinging to each other by his side as he rubbed Junior’s back and arms. Aziraphale looked up at him, then picked Junior up, holding him close to his chest.

“Back to the house,” Aziraphale said, and led the way. Crowley was barely conscious of the walk.

Crowley sat on the couch, numb, as Aziraphale took over—settling Datura and Rosa and Clem down with cups of cocoa and books, tending to a hyperventilating and cold Junior, healing him, warming him, telling him how much he was loved and how glad Aziraphale was that he was safe. Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off Angelica, still lifeless in his arms but for the weak rise and fall of her breathing.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley still flinched, hunching protectively over his daughter and snarling before he came back to himself. Aziraphale’s hands on his face helped. “You’ve done so well, darling. Let me do the rest.”

“She stopped time,” Crowley said dumbly as Aziraphale gently lifted Angelica from his lap. “She stopped it. Almost got lost in it. Was too much for her.”

“She’s still here,” Aziraphale said, and shuffled Angelica into one arm while he used the other to tilt Crowley’s chin up so they were making eye contact. “Crowley. She’s here. We’re all here. You saved them.”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t. Aziraphale stroked his cheek with his thumb, and then walked away, presumably to put Angelica under a heat lamp until she woke up. Crowley’s lap felt empty, right up until Junior crawled into it, wrapped in a blanket and hair still damp. Crowley didn’t think twice about wrapping Junior up in his arms.

“Thank you,” Junior said softly. Crowley felt his throat close up and eyes burn and just squeezed him, not too hard but enough for Junior to not be able to wriggle away so easily, if he so chose. It seemed he had no inclination of going anywhere, still sniffling now and then.

Aziraphale came back downstairs with a tired smile. “She’s all snug in her tank, sleeping away. She just needs rest and she’ll be alright.”

Crowley jerked a nod. Aziraphale sat on the other side of the couch, and immediately was beset upon by the rest of the children, who crammed themselves into the space between Crowley and Aziraphale with little regard for physics or personal space.

“There, now, my dear ones,” Aziraphale said soothingly. “We’ve all had a terrible fright, but it’s alright. We’re all safe and well.”

“Too deep,” Junior hiccupped. “Thought it wasn’t but it was.”

_We can swim like this_, Clem said quietly. _Thought it was okay the other way, too._

“It takes a little more practice, but it can be done,” Aziraphale said, and there was a soft whoosh as his wings came out, encompassing the whole of the couch. They needed preening, Crowley noticed, but they were still warm and fluffy and safe. “Now. We’re going to let Angelica sleep, and when she’s awake and well, we are going to talk about…about appropriate uses of power.”

“How did she do it?” Datura asked.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replied. “Your father’s done it, a couple of times, but the last was…under duress.”

“Father _is_ powerful,” Rosa said with soft awe, and Crowley almost laughed. He didn’t feel very powerful at the moment. “And so is Angelica.”

“I told you so,” Aziraphale said with a gentle smile. “You are all remarkable. I’m so proud of all of you.” The wing closest to Crowley’s head gently brushed his hair, and he heard the unspoken _especially you_ in the action.

In general, the children slept a normal amount for whichever form they were occupying at the time. They were mostly diurnal, though Rosa was certainly making a go of never sleeping like her Azirafather, and mostly regular in their sleep schedules.

Angelica slept for three days straight.

The tension in the house was palpable. If anyone was more miserable than Crowley, it was Junior, who alternated between not leaving Angelica’s room and sitting just outside of it with his head on his knees. Crowley spent every night clinging to Aziraphale with everything he had, and Aziraphale clutched him back, mostly saying nothing but occasionally pressing warm kisses into his hair. Crowley was sure he left bruises from how tightly he held his angel but Aziraphale never complained.

Junior’s shout echoed through the house, and Crowley’s heart stopped entirely, but it registered after a moment that it was a joyful shout, and Junior ran down the stairs with a sleepy-looking Angelica coiled around his neck.

“Alright, alright, give her space,” Aziraphale instructed as the children flocked to welcome their sister back and tell her exactly how cool they thought she was. Aziraphale held out his hand, and after a moment, Angelica sluggishly moved from Junior to Aziraphale, coiling in his arms. Crowley watched as Aziraphale gently thumbed the white patch on Angelica’s head, feeling a small flare of angelic power.

_I’m sorry_, Angelica said.

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked. “You did wonderfully, my darling.”

_I didn’t mean to stop time,_ Angelica said, burrowing into herself. _I think I remember Azirafather saying something about Father doing it, before we hatched. Junior got too deep and was drowning, I just wanted it all to stop so we could save him._

“Saved his life,” Crowley grunted, and stood up from his armchair, where he had been motionless for most of the day. “Clever trick, that. Kept him from sinking all the way.”

_But…but I think I almost broke time_, Angelica fretted.

“You almost broke yourself, spawn,” Crowley said, more harshly than he intended. “We got very, very lucky.”

“You have a white spot!” Junior announced, pointing at Angelica’s head, and Angelica’s head perked up.

_I do?_

“Right here,” Aziraphale said, running his finger over the spot again. “Does it hurt, or tingle?”

_No,_ Angelica said. _May I be person-shaped?_

“If you can handle it, darling,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s breath stuttered as Angelica morphed and he got a good look at her hair. It was always a curly mess, but there was a definitive streak of white striping her hair, near the front. She frowned and pulled the different strands in front of her eyes.

“It’s like Rosa’s,” Angelica said. “Why’d it do that?”

“Magic,” Crowley said, and took a moment to kiss Angelica on the forehead, near the roots of where the streak began. “So proud of you.” He turned to the rest of his children and started distributing hugs and kisses as he saw fit. “All of you.”

“Father’s sappy today,” Datura teased.

Later that night, still wrapped around Aziraphale but not quite so desperately, Crowley heaved a sigh.

“Seen that kind of thing before,” he said quietly. “The streak, I mean.”

“Usually occurs when a human undergoes severe stress or trauma,” Aziraphale murmured. “Stopping time would do that, I suppose.”

There was a long bout of silence, and Crowley took a deep breath.

“We need to find out what they can do,” he said. “If stopping time is possible for them, what else is?”

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out in time,” Aziraphale said gently. “There’s no rush.”

Crowley laughed and it was a wet sort of laugh, the kind he’d been holding back for days. “There’s no way that went unnoticed.”

Aziraphale’s fingers, which had been carding through his hair, stopped. They were silent for a long, long time. Crowley swallowed hard.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, “I suppose—I s-suppose it was wishful thinking, that we could hide them forever.”

Crowley was getting ready to bury his face in Aziraphale’s chest and never come out again when he was struck by a sudden thought. “Adam.”

“What about Adam?”

“We both know he’s a bit more on the magic side than most humans,” Crowley said, scooting back to look Aziraphale in the face. “Maybe he can help. Book girl, too, if she’s willing.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked, worry etched into his brow. “That means more people will know about them.”

“They’re growing up, angel,” Crowley said, as much as it pained him to. “People are going to know about them whether we like it or not. It wouldn’t…” He sighed. “We might need help. I don’t think we can do this alone anymore.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, clearly thinking hard. Crowley laced their fingers together and let him work through it. For himself, he was already thinking about Warlock, who by some demonic miracle had managed to keep in touch with his old Nanny and who needed more friends, in Crowley’s professional opinion. Humans tended to flock together, some primal social instinct or whatever. Madam Tracy had certainly made it her mission since Armageddon’t to keep them all in vague communication, so it wouldn’t be out of the blue for them to approach Adam and the rest.

“I think perhaps you’re right,” Aziraphale said slowly. “And it would be good for them, to expand their acquaintanceship beyond us and the village.”

“I think we’re building a tribe,” Crowley said thoughtfully.

“A clan, perhaps,” Aziraphale smirked, tugging on the collar of his tartan pajama shirt. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Knew you’d force the tartan one day or another.”

“Not force,” Aziraphale sniffed. “If the tartan’s already there, it’s not force.”

“Right, yeah, sure.” Crowley snuggled back up to Aziraphale, ready to sleep for the first time in days. He was apprehensive about it, but if he woke up screaming, Aziraphale would be there. “Night, angel.”

“Goodnight, my dearest,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley drifted off to sleep with Aziraphale’s hands in his hair and steady breathing beneath his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got to thinking about snaby powers and then this popped up out of nowhere. There will be more sweet fluff to make up for this, I promise.


	4. Story

Father was napping and Azirafather was reading when the stranger came.

It was Junior’s turn to find the others, and he was halfway up the tallest apple tree in the orchard to get a good aerial view when he saw her, walking under the trees and perusing the unripe fruit. Junior was a snake at the moment, and quietly coiled along a branch to watch her. The only definitive thing about the stranger that Junior could tell was that she _was_ a she—everything else about her seemed to slip Junior’s mind. He scented the air and picked up nothing but the regular smells of the back garden. The stranger paused to run a finger along the skin of one of the apples, still tiny and green, and before Junior’s eyes it grew large and red and ripe. The stranger smiled at the apple, then her eyes flicked up to Junior’s branch. He curled in on himself with an ‘eep!’

“Hello, there,” the stranger smiled, and it was a warm smile, the kind that made him feel all fuzzy inside. “You remind me an awful lot of someone, little one. What’s your name?”

Junior hissed quietly and flicked his tongue. Best to play snakey—Father said normal people didn’t expect snakes to speak, even if maybe no one but Father could understand them. The stranger Smiled.

“There’s five of you total, I think,” the stranger said, plucking the apple from the branch and taking it with her as she walked the short distance to the garden wall. “I just came by to see what all the fuss was about down here.” The stranger looked up at Junior. “It’s okay, little one. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Somehow, Junior believed her. He slid down the tree and up on the wall next to her. He hesitated.

_Do you know my dads?_ Junior asked.

“I do,” the stranger said. “Go ahead and call your siblings. I’d like to meet all of you.”

_Azirafather and Father don’t like us talking to strangers_, Junior frowned. The stranger laughed.

“I guess I should introduce myself, then,” she said. “You can call me El. I’m sort of your grandma, if you want to think of it a certain way.”

“Our grandma?” Junior asked, morphing despite himself. “Really?”

“Really,” El said. “There, I told you my name. Now I’m not a stranger.”

“I guess not,” Junior said. “I’m—I’m AJ. But if you’re my grandma, I guess you’re allowed to call me Junior.”

“Nice to meet you, Junior,” El replied, and held out her hand to shake. Junior did, and his hand felt all tingly. “Is it alright if I meet the rest of your siblings now? I can’t stay too long, I’m afraid.”

“We’re playing hide and seek,” Junior explained. “Hang on.” He stood on the wall and whistled loudly. “Hey! Time out! Come meet our grandma!”

“Our _what_?” Angelica cried, popping up out of the rhododendron bush.

_Did you say our grandma?_ Clem asked, his head poking up from the long grass near the road.

“Clem, that’s cheating, you have to stay inside the wall,” Junior protested as Rosa and Datura slithered up and changed form near the wall, joining Angelica. Clem wound himself up Junior’s arm, and all five children regarded their weird visitor with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Good afternoon, children,” El said.

“Why can’t we really see you?” Angelica asked.

“It’s a little hard to squeeze myself into a form people understand,” El replied. “This is as good as it gets.”

“How are you our grandmother?” Rosa asked, spreading her skirt in a dainty circle and fussing with her hem. Junior recognized the nervous habit. “Azirafather made us on accident when Father tried to prank him with ping-pong balls.”

“Because your father and Azirafather are my children,” El said. “So, if you look at it logically, the children of my children are my grandchildren, no matter how they came about.”

“They never mentioned having a mum,” Junior frowned.

“Does that mean Father and Azirafather are in an inceptuous relationship?” Rosa asked, and her face looked green. Junior had no idea what she meant but it must’ve been bad. El laughed so hard Junior almost thought he saw her cheeks of indeterminate shape and color turn red.

“It doesn’t work like that,” El smiled, wiping her eyes. “It’s not like they’re humans, after all.” El stretched and popped her back. It was an oddly normal thing for her to do. “So, I’ve met Junior…who are the rest of you?”

Junior’s siblings introduced themselves. Datura, Clem, and Angelica all looked suspicious still. Rosa looked more like she was trying to figure out a riddle.

“It’s very nice to meet all of you,” El said, after re-introducing herself.

“Should we get Father and Azirafather?” Datura asked.

“In a minute, if you’d like,” El said. “I just wanted to see all of you for myself first.”

“Why?” Rosa asked.

“Well, you’re the first truly new kind of life that’s been created since the Beginning,” El said, folding her hands around the apple she ripened. “That makes you all very special.”

“But what about all the people and animals and plants and bacteria who’re born all the time?” Angelica asked.

“I made the blueprints and the souls of every single living thing myself,” El said. “And what I didn’t make with my own hands was still made by hands I created. You…I never saw any of you coming. I never could have imagined you, back at the start.”

_Father is afraid people are going to hurt us for existing,_ Clem said quietly. _Because we aren’t supposed to._

“If you weren’t supposed to exist, you wouldn’t,” El said, and Smiled. “You’re all very much meant to be here, even if I didn’t know at first.”

“Are you God?” Rosa asked, and Junior’s heart leapt into his throat. God was a complicated subject in the Fell-Crowley house; to be talking to God and calling Her Grandma felt…weird.

“I Am,” El said simply.

“That means you cast out Father,” Angelica said, and her face was not friendly anymore. “You said he wasn’t good enough to stay in Heaven.”

“I never said he wasn’t good enough,” El said, and her smile became sad. “It wasn’t easy, but it needed to happen that way.”

“What do you mean, cast out?” Junior asked, and scowled when Angelica and Rosa looked at each other. “Is this one of those things you learned in school and didn’t tell us?”

“Maybe I can clear up the story,” El said, leaning forward. “Set the record straight. Would that be okay?”

Junior felt Clem move to his shoulders. He looked at the rest of his siblings. Datura shrugged. Angelica crossed her arms. Rosa nodded.

“Let’s see…what’s that fun beginning humans came up with?” El frowned.

“Once upon a time?” Rosa suggested.

“That’s it,” El smiled. “Once upon a—”

“Oi!” Father shouted, and Junior whipped his head around to see Father and Azirafather running at them. Their wings were out, and Father’s eyes were full yellow and glowing a little, and Azirafather’s hands were clenched and it looked like he had a halo and extra eyes popping out. They looked scared, and angry. Junior shrank into the wall, then slid down to the grass with his siblings.

“Hello, my children,” El said, and her voice was…big. It wasn’t scary, exactly, but Junior leaned into Angelica’s side anyway. He and the others had a habit of squishing together when things were getting a little much; their parents putting themselves between El and the rest of them felt like a _lot_ much.

“You don’t get to say that,” Father spat, and it felt like his wings were big enough to cover them all, stretched as wide as they would go. “You don’t get to—it’s—not after all you—”

“Children, please go inside,” Azirafather said in a tone that meant he wasn’t asking.

“But she was going to tell us a story,” Rosa blurted.

“She said she’s our grandma!” Junior added.

“_Inside_,” Father growled. They knew better than to argue when Father sounded like that. Junior let Angelica pull him up and held her hand as they walked to the cottage.

“If she’s God, I don’t think it makes a difference if we’re outside or not,” Rosa said when they were all inside, noses pressed to the windows to see what happened next.

“She doesn’t look like she’s upset about being interrupted,” Junior observed.

“Father definitely is,” Datura murmured. “Upset, I mean.”

“So’s Azirafather,” Angelica said. Neither of their parents had closed their wings, still mantling aggressively.

“They’re yelling at _God_,” Junior said, and giggled because he didn’t know what else to do.

After a few minutes, Azirafather’s wings went away. After a few more, Father’s did, too. They were holding hands tightly as El talked, and a few minutes after that, El stood up.

“I think they’re coming inside,” Angelica said, and the five of them scattered to the couch as Father and Azirafather led El towards the back door. They both still looked angry and scared to Junior, but El was smiling and still carrying her apple as she followed them.

“—kettle on,” Azirafather was saying as the back door opened and the grownups came inside (grownups being a relative term, of course, but if anyone was a grownup, Junior figured God was probably the most grown-up grownup ever). “Would—would you like some, Lord?”

“Some tea would be lovely, thank you, Aziraphale,” El said warmly, and sat calmly on the rug in front of the couch, her apple still in her hands. Father said something quiet and fierce in Azirafather’s ear, and Azirafather said something back, and they kissed each other before separating, Father to sit on the arm of the couch, Azirafather to go to the kitchen.

“Father?” Junior asked, looking up at him, and Father didn’t take his eyes off El but tilted his head to indicate he’d heard. “Is she really our grandma?”

Father snorted in a way that included more teeth-grinding than usual. His eyes were still full snakey.

“Does that mean people on Earth are like her billionth-great-great grandkids?” Datura asked, and El laughed.

“Not exactly, no,” El smiled. “Do you want me to explain how being God works, or do you want to hear the story of why your father and Azirafather needed to meet the way they did?”

“The second one,” Junior voted, and his siblings agreed. Father shifted.

“Once upon a time,” El said, her voice turning mystical and enthralling, “there was a lonely god who walked through the raw firmament and the void of Before, and she thought to make herself helpers, to organize the raw firmament and the void into something beautiful. She made many helpers, and she called them all angels.”

_Like Azirafather,_ Clem said.

“Like Father was before,” Angelica added.

“God loved all of her helpers,” El said, “and knew them all by name, and knew what each of them had been tasked to create, and she saw that the work was good. She watched them make stars and nebulas and black holes and galaxies, and when things called planets were about to be made, God called together her helpers, her children, and she told them that she was planning on making something called an Earth, and that Earth would be filled with creatures called humans.”

“Why?” Junior asked, and Father flinched hard.

“Because that was what God thought would be the best use of resources,” El said, her voice somehow becoming even more gentle, and Junior didn’t miss how El glanced at Father often while she talked. “She told her children that the humans were to be put on the Earth to live their lives and be tested on whether they could be Good or they could be Evil, and it would be her angels’ job to watch over them and make sure they had guidance on what Good was.

“Many angels didn’t like that idea, so they rebelled,” El continued. “Other angels didn’t fight it, exactly, they just didn’t understand why it had to happen that way, and didn’t want to accept that they would have to have some blind faith. So God was forced to make a choice, one she knew she would have to make, because the universe and all of Creation works on a balance, and with only Good on the scales, there could be no true balance.”

“So you made demons,” Rosa said. Father flinched again, and Azirafather came in with a tray of teacups. He handed one to El, one to each of Junior’s siblings and to Junior, and kept one for himself, standing beside Father and wrapping an arm around him. Father clung to him hard.

“What’s a demon?” Junior asked.

“A fallen angel,” Rosa replied. “Like in the story with the snake and the princess, remember? The snake was an angel who had to make a choice, and Azirafather said he made the hard one for the greater good.”

“It certainly shook out that way,” El said mildly. “Put simply, Junior, a demon is an angel who doesn’t follow God’s authority anymore. Most demons had to become Evil to balance out the Good, because without both, humans couldn’t make choices, and they couldn’t have free will. Does that make sense?”

“I guess,” Junior grumbled. “I have a lot more questions about it, though.”

“I know you do,” El smiled. “There was a certain star-maker who had a lot of questions, too, just like you. God knew the star-maker would never be happy staying an angel, and while being a demon wasn’t exactly a picnic, God knew it was the better choice for him in the end. So she decided to put him where he had the best chance of being the most useful—and, eventually, the most happy.”

Father made a weird croaky noise. Azirafather hugged him and covered his head like he sometimes had to do when Father got overwhelmed, gently swaying and shushing him. Junior drank his tea and tried to listen to the story.

“So God made a place for the demons to live, and once the Earth was done and the first humans were in a special garden called Eden, everything was ready to begin the…let’s call it the Ineffable Plan,” El said, and smiled when Azirafather harrumphed. “Everything that’s ever happened and will ever happen was because of that. And…now…so are all of you.” El sipped her tea and made a happy sound and a small wiggle that was too familiar.

“So…we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t let Father Fall,” Rosa said.

“No, you wouldn’t,” El replied. “Your father and Azirafather would never have met. And a great deal wouldn’t have happened as it should have, if that had been the case.”

“Like Adam’s Big Whoopsie?” Datura asked, and El snorted tea out of her nose laughing. Junior couldn’t help laughing, himself—God had just squirted tea out of her nose! God did that!

“Especially that,” El said, and rubbed her nose. “Phew. That stings.”

“Still doesn’t explain why Falling and being a demon has to be the way it is,” Father mumbled from the confines of Azirafather’s arms.

“You know better than anyone I don’t reveal all my tricks, Crowley,” El said gently. “All things have a reason, even if I don’t share them.” Father grumbled and picked at a loose thread on Azirafather’s shirt.

“So…what does that mean for us?” Rosa asked. “What are we supposed to do?”

“You’re the product of a very improbable love between Good and Evil,” El said, and toyed with her apple. “What do you want to do?”

“Eat cake,” Junior said immediately. El grinned at him.

“Then I suppose you should do that,” she said. “You’re not human, but you aren’t angels or demons, either. In my book, you’re something completely new. That means you get to decide who and what you are, and what you’re going to do with that.”

“And…and what of Heaven and Hell?” Azirafather asked, and his voice was hoarse. El looked at him for a long time.

“Heaven and Hell are free to make their own choices, too,” El said gently. “The Ineffable Plan can’t be stopped, and your remarkable children are part of it now. Whatever part they’re going to play remains to be seen.”

“If you’re our grandma, can you make it so they leave us alone?” Angelica asked, and her arms were crossed again. “Seems like the least you can do.”

“Free will is something I can’t interfere in,” El replied. “I won’t stop anyone from making choices. I can make suggestions, and very firm hints, but ultimately it’s up to others to decide what they will do.” El hummed for a moment, sipped her tea, and smiled. “I don’t think you have much to worry about, though. No life is free from pain, of course, because suffering is part of the package of existing, but you can’t have suffering without joy. Pain and pleasure, virtue and vice, Good and Evil…” El hummed again and took a bite of her apple at last. It sounded crisp, and the juice dribbled down El’s chin as she chewed and made a pleased sound in the back of her throat. “The fruits of existence and life are free game, kiddos. I think you’ve got a whole world and universe ahead of you.”

Junior could tell it didn’t exactly make Father or Azirafather relax, but it sounded pretty good to him. He swung his legs. “Are you going to be stopping by more often?”

“Not sure,” El smiled, and took another bite. “Mm. Might have to, if all the apples in the orchard turn out as good as this one.” She set her teacup aside and stood, dusting off her knees. “Well, that’s all the time I have for the moment, children. I can’t wait to see the things you all come up with.”

El strolled towards the back door, put her hand on the doorknob, and then turned around. She smiled at Junior and his siblings, and then turned a very soft smile on Father and Azirafather. “Congratulations, by the way. On all of it.”

Junior didn’t exactly see El leave, but she must have. He looked down at his teacup and drank the rest of what was in it. None of his siblings moved or spoke, and neither did his parents. He fidgeted a little in his seat, then sprang up.

“Last one to the garden’s a rotten egg!” he cried, and to his delight his siblings followed, voicing varying degrees of excitement and disapproval, but the important thing is that when he looked over his shoulder to check that they were following, Father and Azirafather were looking more perplexed than scared, and that made Junior feel better about the whole thing.

He had a vague sense that God showing up out of the blue was going to have his dads out of sorts for a while, but he had every faith they would recover soon. In the meantime, it was still a nice sunny day outside, and it was still his turn to seek. He wondered if he could do El’s trick with the apple; getting one of them early without upsetting his stomach would make for a nice afternoon treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's Madeleine L'Engle's book "Many Waters" that calls God El, and while I know that draws from scripture, it's the first I'd ever seen that; it felt appropriate here, somehow. Might just be my deep-seated need to make pop culture references at all times. :P
> 
> I know I promised fluff and this isn't really it, but it felt important. Fluff IS coming, I promise!


	5. Playtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like writing about kids playing by themselves; sometimes, with a full house, everyone needs a little time to themselves.

The spy slid through the door of the dim, smoky bar, adjusting his cufflinks. His dark glasses concealed his eyes and went perfectly with his sharp-cut black suit. He sauntered into a stool and signaled the man behind the counter.

“Chocolate milk,” the spy ordered. “Shaken, not stirred.”

The bartender nodded, and when his drink was ready the spy took a deep swig and smacked his lips. That was the good stuff.

According to his information, the arms would be changing hands at this very bar sometime soon. He checked his designer watch, the only one of its kind. Any minute now…

“Boss says to hand over the money first, see,” a nasally voice said over the crooning of the cabaret singer. “Once we got it, you get the goods, see. Otherwise, this’ll get messy, see.”

The spy listened and sipped his drink.

“You’re sure this location is safe?” another voice asked. “This stuff’s super illegal.”

“It’ll be fine, see,” the first voice sneered. “Where’s our money, see?”

The spy finished his drink. Then he stood.

As he turned around, he saw a silver briefcase in the hands of a man with one eye being put in the hands of a man with a cigar and a squint, and the spy let a corner of his mouth twitch upwards. The bad guys’ eyes grew big.

“I know you!” Cigar Guy said.

“It’s—you’re—” One-Eye spluttered. The spy smiled openly.

“Crowley,” the spy said, adjusting his tie. “AJ Crowley.”

The bad guys both pulled guns, and as they fired the spy jumped into action—

And Junior’s knee came into violent contact with a sharp rock, jolting him right out of his game as he tipped his head back and howled with pain. “Azirafather!” he yelled, his knee throbbing. He was trying his best to stay ahead of the urge to cry, but there was quite a bit of blood coming from his knee—

“There, now, it’s alright,” Azirafather soothed, pressing a damp cloth to Junior’s knee as Junior sniffled. “What grand adventure are you on today, love?”

“M’ a spy,” Junior mumbled. “The bad guys are ‘bout to sell the arms. I gotta stop ‘em.”

“I see,” Azirafather said seriously, smoothing a bandage over the injury and pressing a sweet angel dad kiss to the area. Junior felt the minor healing miracle in the action and wiped his nose on his arm. “Well, Agent Junior, are you well enough to continue your mission?”

Junior thought about it. Then he nodded. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Junior gave Azirafather a big hug and kiss, then dashed his fist across his wet face. “Mind you stay out of the roses this time, young man.”

“I will!” Junior promised, dashing back into the garden.

The spy pulled himself out of his tuck-and-roll and grinned as the bad guys stared at him, quaking in their evil boots. “Now. Where were we?”

.

Rosa did not have tea parties. Rosa had incredibly refined luncheons where only the most intelligent and cultured guests were allowed to attend, with delicious food made by master chefs and rare brewed beverages sourced responsibly from their countries of origin. They discussed matters of state and philosophy, and if there was a row, Rosa was careful to not let it escalate beyond heated words, because physical violence was beneath those of her acquaintance.

That didn’t stop some people, unfortunately.

Azirafather looked puzzled when Rosa sighed loudly for the fourth time in a row, swinging her legs and looking down into her teacup, which she had taken downstairs to consume its imaginary contents in private. Azirafather was doing some washing up, and kept glancing over at her. Rosa made sure her face was long and glum and waited. This, too, was part of the game.

“What troubles you today, my dear?” Azirafather asked eventually, walking over to the table as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. Rosa sighed again, tracing the rim of her plastic teacup.

“It was all going so terribly well,” she said, “but then Mr. Toad brought up the oyster incident, and now Mrs. Oyster is inconsolable and I think Mr. Walrus is getting peckish again.”

“Oh, dear,” Azirafather said gravely. “That’s quite a predicament.”

“It gets worse,” Rosa sighed.

“Does it?”

“Ronnie and Bartholomew decided to elope, at last, which we all knew they would, but Peter is quite incensed about his sister running off with a bear and he’s talking to the Pan again, which is never good, because the Peters shouldn’t plot together unless it’s to recover goods that Captain Hook and the Grand High Witch stole,” Rosa explained. “We told Mr. Wonka to hide his stash better this time, but the Peters are too clever, you know, and Ms. Bedelia is just trying to plan a good wedding party for when Ronnie and Bartholomew come back, and Mr. Tumnus missed his luncheon invitation again, and it’s all gone a horrid mess.” Rosa sighed heavily for the final time and started rolling her teacup around on the table.

“I see,” Azirafather said, and Rosa knew he didn’t really, but it was sweet of him to pretend. “How shall we fix it?”

“Oh, it’ll all blow over, it’s just insufferable to be around such drama, you know,” Rosa rolled her eyes. “One does expect better from one’s houseguests.”

“You might banish them until they decide to behave,” Azirafather observed. “Having rude people in one’s home is unpleasant.”

“I might,” Rosa said thoughtfully. “Or I might just poison the tea. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Maybe have an approach that’s a bit more discriminatory in its execution?” Azirafather suggested with the slightly-panicked smile Rosa liked provoking now and then. “Individual ultimatums, perhaps? Less accidental death, I should think.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Rosa promised, and slipped from her chair. “Thank you, Azirafather.”

“Any time, my dear,” Azirafather said, with the very lightly dazed tone of voice that meant he had no idea what just happened, and Rosa kissed his cheek and thought he was a dear anyway.

Banishment was certainly a good idea, but if she was to do away with the true evil mastermind behind the chaos, her rival the Dread Witch Penelope, certainly something a bit more heavy-handed and permanent was in order. Couldn’t have a good party—or even a sub-par party—with Penelope hanging over the proceedings. Maybe dangling her over oil would make the Peters feel better and get Mrs. Oyster’s mind off her eaten children. Mr. Wonka could do the catering.

Rosa smiled to herself and returned to her game.

.

Angelica was working on her penalty kicks.

Or, that’s what she had started off doing; it had turned into a game to see how many wasps she could run over with her football before she got stung. They had all learned a valuable lesson about wasps’ nests a few months ago, when Junior knocked one off an apple tree, but individual wasps didn’t scare Angelica much. She was sure they had some part to play in the Great Plan, but for the life of her, Angelica couldn’t figure out what it was, so here she was, kicking her football across their tiny insect bodies and grinning every time she managed to actually crush one.

She kicked the football towards a wasp that was flying in a determined line at her, and missed, the football instead bouncing off the garden wall and crashing into the side of one of Father’s rose bushes. Angelica paled. Uh-oh. Father loved those rose bushes. He yelled at them the least out of everything in the garden, even the apple trees. She ran towards the bush to assess the damage. The bush seemed alright, but one of the blooms had been obliterated and the ball was now stuck down in the bush, guarded by thorny branches. Angelica swallowed hard. Father was not going to be pleased about this.

She looked around her, saw the coast was clear, and stuck one arm down in the bush. The ball was just barely out of reach of her fingertips, and several thorns poked her but didn’t break the skin. She carefully drew her arm back out and thought. What was the best way to go about this?

She lowered herself to the ground, then scooted forward. The ball was cradled in the major split of branches, above the trunk of the bush; from this angle, she could try to pull the ball between the biggest gap and maybe it wouldn’t be all that noticeable.

She flipped onto her back. There. Much better.

Angelica carefully reached up between the branches and put her fingers around the outside of the ball. She worked carefully and slowly, nudging the ball this way and that, scraping up against thorns now and then but otherwise working methodically. If she zoned out enough, she could almost pretend she was defusing a really weird bomb, or performing the oddest surgery ever. On a dinosaur. A dinosaur who swallowed a bomb.

Angelica’s eyes narrowed. No dinosaurs would be exploding on her watch. Not today!

After several minutes of careful maneuvering, Angelica finally worked the ball free, and she gave a little laugh of triumph.

“Alright in there, spawn?”

Angelica froze. She bit her lip. She wriggled.

“Yeah, Father,” she called. “Just—just giving a dinosaur some surgery.”

“A dinosaur,” Father’s amused voice replied.

“Yeah,” Angelica replied. “He swallowed a bomb.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Reasons.” Angelica wiggled out from under the bush, leaves in her hair and ball under her arm, and blinked innocently up at Father, who had his garden shears in hand and a raised eyebrow. She held up her ball. “I got it.”

“Well, thank Somebody for that,” Father said, and ruffled Angelica’s hair. “Get out of here, this dinosaur needs a trim.”

“Okay,” Angelica nodded, relieved, and skipped off to continue tormenting insects with her football.

.

Datura often wished that Azirafather would get a car—not so Azirafather could drive them anywhere, but so they could have a car they were allowed to touch.

Father let Datura sit with the Bentley sometimes, but they were expressly forbidden from touching it without his supervision. So, when Datura’s fingers were feeling fiddly and they wanted to work on something, they dragged whatever project they’d managed to scrounge up and take it to the garage. Even if they were just poking at a broken clock Angelica had taken off a classmate to bring home to them, Datura could pretend it was a bizarre car engine and try to fix it.

Today’s project was a bit closer to the real thing, a remote-control car that no longer worked. Datura was taking it apart with their own tiny toolset, which Father had allowed them to have after they accidentally broke one of the screwdrivers off in another toy months ago.

Datura was just getting the wheels off when one of them dropped, bounced, and rolled under the Bentley. If they laid flat and peeked, they could see it, sitting harmlessly on the concrete directly under the oil tank.

Datura bit their lip.

Looking around the garage, there wasn’t much, but there was a broom Azirafather used for sweeping the porches that would come in handy. Datura set down their tools, grabbed the broom, and with a careful flick swiped it under the Bentley. The wheel came rocketing out from under the car, as intended, but as not intended, the tall end of the broom knocked over a can of spray paint Father had picked up and never explained why. It tumbled to the floor, the cap flew off, and a small hiss of paint escaped, painting the back of Datura’s heel bright red.

Datura frowned. That wasn’t great. They put the broom back, then went to pick up the spray paint. They couldn’t quite get the cap on, and another splotch of paint escaped to coat their fingers, but eventually they got the cap at least balanced and put the spray paint on the shelf. Okay. Now that was two disasters averted.

Datura rubbed their fingers together and smeared the paint around, curling it off their skin as it dried, and decided it wasn’t worth going inside and washing off. They rubbed their fingers off on their legs, streaking red down their shins, and went back to their remote control car.

“Datura?” Azirafather poked his head in. “It’s time to wash up, dear.”

“Okay,” Datura said vaguely, and Azirafather made a little gasp.

“Are you alright? What’s that red all over you?” Azirafather fretted, coming into the garage.

“Paint,” Datura said. Azirafather stooped down and took one of Datura’s hands, inspecting the red smears, and sighed.

“Frightened me for a moment,” he mumbled, and Datura glanced up at him and smiled.

“I’m alright,” they said. “I’ve almost got this spring loose, and I’ll come in.”

“I think you’re due for a bath after dinner,” Azirafather said, and Datura grimaced. He booped their nose and stood.

“Mind where you step, you’ve got some on your foot, too,” Azirafather added, and Datura nodded. After a moment, the spring finally came loose, and Datura grinned.

“There we go,” they said, and stood, stretching. They gathered up their tools and the bits and bobs they’d taken apart, and gave a long, longing look to the Bentley.

“One day, old girl,” they said quietly, and, glancing at the doorway Azirafather had disappeared through, they darted forward and gave the Bentley’s front bumper a little pat. There. That’d have to do.

.

Clem was having a grand old time. He’d spent most of the afternoon curled in his basket in a slow-moving patch of sunlight, and he rode up and down the pulley system a few times, and currently he was making his way up a tree in the garden, coiling around a branch to sleep some more while the sun was up. He was just getting comfortable when a bird landed on the branch above his.

Clem stayed very still. It probably hadn’t seen him yet. The bird was pretty, and warbled sweetly. One of Rosa’s books said birds that had thick blunt beaks usually ate nuts and birds with long sharp beaks usually ate bugs, but Clem couldn’t tell what sort of beak it was at all, given that he had no other beak present to compare it to, but the main thing is that it wasn’t a hawk or an owl so it was probably safe. If Clem wanted to, Clem could probably eat it and that would be an observance of the natural food chain, but Clem had had his meal that week already and wasn’t in the habit of overindulging, not in this form. He was content to stay perfectly still and listen.

The bird hopped about the branches, twittering, and Clem watched as it picked off a small twig and fluttered to another branch in the adjacent tree. Clem noticed it was building a nest—there was already a pretty good structure going in the joint of where a branch forked off the main trunk. He watched for a while. A second bird joined the first after a while, bringing what looked like lint from a laundry trap, though where it would have gotten something like that Clem didn’t know. He watched them until he heard Father calling him inside, and then he moved slowly and carefully so he didn’t disturb the birds.

_Here I am, Father,_ Clem said as he slunk through the grass towards him. Father put down his hand, and Clem wrapped around his arm, bumping his nose when he was secure enough. Father grinned at him.

“What trouble have you been up to today, spawn?” Father asked as they went inside.

_There are some birds building a nest in the orchard,_ Clem said. _I watched them._

“Nest, huh,” Father mused. “Might mean eggs. Good source of protein, eggs.”

_Father!_ Clem cried. _I’m not going to eat them!_

“I might,” Father said, and laughed when Clem constricted on his arm. “Nah. Little robin’s eggs aren’t all that filling. Reckon they can stay.”

_They were working very hard on their nest,_ Clem sulked, his tongue flicking out against Father’s ear. _It looked like fun._

“Thinking of building your own?” Father asked, and then smiled again. “Well, you’ve already got the basket.”

_Oh, that’s true,_ Clem said thoughtfully. _Well, maybe I’ll just watch them instead._

“Not a bad idea,” Father shrugged. “Would keep you out of trouble, unlike the rest of your siblings.”

_I’m a perfectly well-behaved angel,_ Clem said with dignity. Father booped his snoot with his finger and held out his arm for Clem to unwind and resituate himself on one of the many sturdy house decorations perfect for a climbing, coiling snake. _Maybe I could see what else is living in the garden._

“If you find any moles, feel free to eat them,” Father said darkly. “They’re making rows in my vegetables again.”

_Okay, Father,_ Clem said, already slipping into a contented afternoon doze. He felt Father’s fingers stroke along his head and gave a little wiggle. He tucked his head under his coils and fell back into a good snooze. Nothing like a nap to recharge after an interesting day.


	6. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wiggleverse shares a hive mind, I swear; I consulted with no one but Olwen when I started writing this, and yet Starwolf has gotten on the ball with her really fun date night fic! I love this corner of the GOmens fandom so much. Anyway, have some kiddos being cute and meeting new people!

In the end, Crowley and Aziraphale felt it was best to just get it over with at once, when it came to introducing certain people to the children.

Aziraphale was watching Crowley stress-clean and sipping tea as they waited for their human friends to arrive. As entertaining as watching Crowley swear at the grout in Italian was, Aziraphale was a little more preoccupied with going over answers to the inevitable questions they were going to get. Adam, at least, was sure to have more than a few. He just hoped Sergeant Shadwell kept a civil tongue in his head; unfortunately, there was no separating him from Madam Tracy these days, between her bad knees and his weakened heart. There would be no heart incidents today, Aziraphale was determined. Unless it had to do with Crowley’s. That might be unavoidable.

The children were beside themselves with excitement. Rosa had insisted on a new dress for the occasion, which Aziraphale was more than happy to let Crowley handle. Similar as their aesthetics were, Aziraphale still wouldn’t know a petticoat from a petit-four, and Rosa was already the darling of the local consignment boutique with her vintage taste and discerning eye. Best to let the one between the two of her parents who had an idea of what a dress silhouette was take care of it.

Clem was on the tail end (no pun intended) of his latest shed and was much less grumpy now that his eye caps were gone. Angelica was determined to do her own hair, even if she had to keep going to Crowley with the detangling spray and a hopeless knot in her curls. Datura had been practicing hiding their scales and shrinking their irises for hours in the mirror even though they had mastered it first out of all their siblings. Even Junior got caught practicing his introduction a few days earlier, and Aziraphale advised him to leave off the Bond impressions. The whole house was buzzing with tension of all flavors—so much so that there was some light screaming when the sensible, fuel-efficient white minivan that had long ago replaced Dick Turpin pulled into the cottage drive.

“Oh, they’re here,” Aziraphale observed. Crowley gulped.

“Spawn!” he roared, and five snakes zipped to the kitchen table. Aziraphale fussed with his bowtie and his waistcoat as he saw the teenage Antichrist eject from the van and start helping Madam Tracy out of her seat.

“Everybody, please, behave naturally,” Aziraphale fretted.

“Behave naturally? What does that even mean?” Crowley frowned. “There’s nothing ‘natural’ about this family, angel.”

“Well, do not appear overbearing, at least,” Aziraphale said, reaching over and adjusting Crowley’s lapel. Crowley grabbed his hand away and kissed the inside of his wrist, which made Aziraphale shiver.

“Calm down, would you?” he growled. “You’re nervous, and you’re making me nervous, and nobody needs to be nervous.”

_I’m nervous,_ Clem announced.

_You’re always nervous,_ Junior huffed. _It’s just new people. This’ll be fun!_

“That’s the spirit,” Crowley said, and walked to the door, opening it before the humans could get to the doorbell (Adam was now helping Shadwell, who was taking his assistance with much less grace than Madam Tracy). “Wahey! Welcome to Casa Fell-Crowley!”

“Fell-Crowley?” someone who sounded like Shadwell grunted from outside.

_Casa?_ Angelica quirked her head.

Aziraphale bustled forward to stand with Crowley at the front door and helped welcome Newt, Anathema, Shadwell, Madam Tracy, and Adam into their home, offering to take coats and indicating the mat where feet should be wiped, and between the two of them they managed to get the humans herded into the living room, where a tea service was already sitting on the coffee table.

“Nice place, this is,” Shadwell said stoutly, not making any bones about his desire to be sitting on a soft surface and tipping himself onto the couch.

“Oh, what a charming back garden, look, Mr. S!” Madam Tracy cooed at the wide back windows, where Crowley’s garden was indeed in fine form.

“What’s the surprise, then?” Adam asked with characteristic forthrightness, sitting on the rug and helping himself to entirely-too-sweet tea. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and looked at him as Newt and Anathema occupied the loveseat and Madam Tracy settled next to Shadwell on the couch.

“We’ll just—we’ll fetch them, shall we?” Aziraphale said, still looking at Crowley. Crowley, bespectacled for the day, nodded and squeezed his hand.

“This is a little outside of the normal parameters of weird even for an angel and a demon, so I want you lot to bear that in mind before you start making comments,” Crowley said, glaring down especially at Shadwell, who was mumbling about the lack of condensed milk on the tea service even as he dumped an unholy amount of sugar lumps into his teacup. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand again and they went to the kitchen to gather the children.

“Alright, they probably won’t be able to understand you lot as snakes, so keep that in mind before we tell you it’s okay to transform,” Crowley said in a low voice to the children as they gathered them up, Junior and Datura slinging up Crowley’s arms and Angelica and Rosa twining around Aziraphale’s as he tucked Clem into a secure hold.

_Can’t you make it so they can understand us, like you did Azirafather?_ Clem asked.

“Only if they ask,” Aziraphale answered as Crowley shrugged. “These are our friends and guests in our home, and we don’t want to be rude even if they can’t understand what we’re saying, am I understood? Junior?”

_Yes, sir,_ Junior sighed, and Crowley scratched under Junior’s chin. Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who nodded, and together the two of them walked into the living room.

“Wicked,” Adam breathed, jumping to his feet. “Are those snakes?”

“No, they’re decorative garden hoses,” Crowley snorted, rolling his eyes as Newt startled so badly he spilled his tea on his lap and Shadwell made an unidentifiable noise that had something to do with witches and demons, no doubt. Anathema looked unfazed, if curious. Madam Tracy had her hand on Shadwell’s arm and was blinking a lot.

“These are not normal snakes,” Aziraphale announced as he and Crowley carefully settled in Aziraphale’s arm chair, Crowley perching on the arm. “It’s a bit of a long story, you see, but it starts in my bookshop—”

“I tried to prank Aziraphale with fake snake eggs and he thought they were real,” Crowley interrupted. “And because he thought they were real, they hatched. Ta-da.” He held up his arms, and Junior and Datura hissed in a friendly sort of way. Newt turned very pale. Adam’s smile broadened.

“Oh, they’re not normal, are they?” Adam said. “I can feel that, can’t you, Anathema?”

“Their auras are so strange,” Anathema said, narrowing her eyes in a way that spoke volumes about how she wished she had her spectacles with her. “Yours are weird enough, but theirs…I’ve never seen anything like it.”

_Our auras aren’t strange,_ Angelica hissed. Adam blinked, and he looked at Anathema.

“Did you hear that?” Adam asked. Anathema frowned and looked at Adam.

“Hear what? I didn’t hear anything,” Newt said.

“That one on Aziraphale’s arm with the white patch seems awfully feisty, though, doesn’t it?” Madam Tracy said, and Angelica hissed again indignantly. Madam Tracy laughed. “Oh, she’s feisty, I’m sorry. I see that now.”

_I am not an it,_ Angelica said, peeved.

“Sorry, that’s Angelica,” Aziraphale said, stroking the top of her head with a couple of fingers. “She’s very protective, is all.”

“Say something else,” Adam said eagerly. “I almost heard something that time.”

_Something else,_ Rosa obliged, and Adam laughed. Anathema gave a little surprised huff.

“I can’t quite hear them, but something flares in their auras whenever they’re communicating,” Anathema said.

“I can’t be sure, but I think the white one was just cheeky,” Madam Tracy announced. Crowley chuckled.

“Go on, introduce yourselves,” he said, letting down his arms. Aziraphale did the same, and the four who were comfortable with being people-shaped slid to the floor and in a pop resumed their childlike forms. Shadwell bellowed and dropped his teacup, and yelled again when Madam Tracy closed her hand around his arm, none too gently.

“Remember your heart, love,” Madam Tracy said rather fiercely, and Shadwell’s throat bobbed.

“Before anyone asks any inappropriate questions, they have exactly the right amount of appendages and body parts, so no need to be invasive,” Aziraphale said quickly, glaring down Shadwell himself. Shadwell’s mouth clicked closed. “They are children, after all.”

“I’m Adam, Adam Young,” Adam said, talking directly to the children. “You’re Angelica, right? Your hair has some white in it just like your scales.” He pointed at Angelica, who was taken aback and nodded, curling her fingers in the end of her very messy braid. “That’s cool.”

“I’m Anthony Junior,” Junior loudly announced, taking a half-step in front of Angelica. “You can call me AJ.”

“Or Junior will also do,” Aziraphale smiled, and smiled wider when Junior threw a wounded look over his shoulder. “Or perhaps not.”

“You’ve gotta _earn_ calling me Junior,” Junior said mutinously.

“I can see why you got the name,” Anathema said, and Junior flushed right to his ears.

“I’m Datura,” Datura said, reaching for Clem out of Aziraphale’s lap and heaving his heavy coils into their lap. “This is Clem. He doesn’t like having legs.”

_Hello,_ Clem said shyly, and for the benefit of those who couldn’t understand, he waved the end of his tail. Newt waved back just as uncertainly.

“My name is Rosa,” Rosa said, doing a perfect curtsy with her new dress. “Rosa Victoria Zipporah Fell-Crowley.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Shadwell mumbled, and Madam Tracy’s nails dug into his arm again.

“That’s a perfectly lovely name,” she assured Rosa, who beamed.

“Thank you,” Rosa said, and settled on the rug. “What are all your names?”

“I’m Anathema Device,” Anathema said immediately. “This is my…this is Newt.”

“Hello,” Newt waved again.

“This is Sergeant Shadwell of the Witchfinder Army,” Madam Tracy said, taking over Shadwell’s speaking duties as she stuffed a biscuit in his mouth, “and you can call me Madam Tracy, loves. Or Auntie Tracy. Whichever sounds best to you.”

“Ooh, I want to be Uncle Adam,” Adam said, grinning. “Do you all have special magic powers, too?”

“We haven’t checked,” Crowley said carelessly.

“A little,” Angelica said, her voice surprisingly shy as she indicated her white streak. “I got in some trouble and that’s how I got this.”

“Would you children like to show Adam the back garden?” Aziraphale suggested, and Junior and Datura hollered their approval and went running for the back door, Clem winding around Datura’s torso and agreeing with enthusiasm. Rosa took to her feet and primly dusted off her new skirt before making another polite curtsy to the room and following. Angelica stood and watched Adam as he drained his tea and obliged Aziraphale’s unspoken wish; to Aziraphale’s surprise, Angelica extended her hand to Adam and blushed when Adam grinned and took it. Crowley elbowed him with a light snicker as Angelica, flame-faced, resolutely marched Adam towards the back door where the others had gone. When all the children and Adam were safely out back, Aziraphale released a breath and sighed.

“So. Any questions?” Aziraphale said in a higher voice than usual.

“Tons,” Anathema said.

“None whatsoever,” Shadwell said firmly. “If ye say they’ve the normal amount of n—”

“Yes, absolutely normal in every way, no need to ask,” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice somehow climbing further octaves. Shadwell shrugged.

“Then they’re no witches, just weird wee bairns,” Shadwell replied. “Eggs, you said?”

“Ping-pong balls, originally,” Crowley said, sliding further into Aziraphale’s side without having to worry about squashing their children. “Turns out angelic belief is a little bit stronger than usual, when combined with demonic influence.”

“And let’s not forget love, dearest,” Aziraphale said gently, and Crowley nuzzled the side of his head to hide his big smile. Aziraphale grinned. “Really extraordinary amounts of love.”

“How long have they been able to do…that? Be children instead of snakes?” Newt asked, seemingly unnerved every time he looked out the back windows.

“They figured it out some months back, before we moved out here,” Crowley explained. “Kinda glad they didn’t do it back when they were still babies, really. Can you imagine five infants, angel?”

“I’d rather not,” Aziraphale shuddered. Toilet training had been enough of a nightmare without involving the whole diaper period. “Five children is quite enough work, thank you.”

“Clem’s an unusual name for a snake,” Anathema commented.

“Short for Clematis,” Aziraphale replied. “He’s our sweetest one, it’s really a shame you can’t hear him properly. Such a darling.”

“They’re all darling, to one degree or another,” Crowley said loyally, and Aziraphale laughed. “When they’re not being terrors.”

“Do your former bosses know?” Anathema asked, and Crowley and Aziraphale both looked at each other. Aziraphale bit his lip as the tension mounted again.

“We don’t think so,” Crowley said slowly. “And…we’d rather they not know for as long as possible.”

“We have a favor to ask, actually,” Aziraphale said, looking to Anathema. “Beelzebub and Gabriel—you remember them from the airfield—came poking around earlier, just after we moved in, but they didn’t find out about the children thanks to some quick thinking. We were wondering if Anathema would be opposed to looking at our wards and adding to them.”

“I’m not sure I can ward against Heaven and Hell, I’m just a human,” Anathema frowned. Newt gently squeezed her hand for support.

“You’d be surprised,” Crowley said dryly. “Don’t underestimate yourself like they do, Book Girl, it’s our greatest advantage, them not knowing how powerful Earth is.”

“I have some crystals that could probably help,” Madam Tracy said, and Aziraphale did his very best to curb his laughter. Human belief was a powerful thing, after all. “I could make a lovely little windchime, I think.”

“That would be most welcome,” Aziraphale nodded.

“Could leave the Thundergun, if ye’d like,” Shadwell offered.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Aziraphale winced. “Not around the children.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his waistcoat. “Actually, Anathema, my dear, I was wondering if I could ask a second favor of you, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course,” Anathema said calmly, refilling her teacup. “What else do you need?”

Aziraphale hesitated. He felt Crowley’s questioning nudge next to him, but this was…hm. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“I was wondering,” Aziraphale said carefully, “if you could perhaps search the children’s auras for us.”

“Search?” Anathema frowned. “Search for what?”

“I confess I don’t know much about aura reading beyond what’s instinctive for my species,” Aziraphale said with a nervous chuckle, deliberately avoiding all eye contact, “but…but there are things you can tell from a person’s aura, can you not?”

“All sorts of things,” Anathema nodded. “I still don’t understand what—”

“Like how long they’ll live, for example,” Aziraphale finally blurted, squeezing his eyes shut. The ringing silence that followed was torment as Crowley stiffened against him. “How…how long we can expect…”

“I can try,” he heard Anathema say quietly as she put down her teacup, and there was shifting as though she was standing. “I can’t promise a definitive reading, but I can look.”

This was not a topic of discussion Aziraphale and Crowley had broached, but it was one that was on Aziraphale’s mind frequently. With every skinned knee, every loose tooth, every shedding, every inch, Aziraphale’s mind was plagued with doubts. He hadn’t realized he was envisioning new life when he accidentally miracled the children into existence, and they had certainly already surpassed his expectations, but—Aziraphale had thought they were snakes. Possibly demonic snakes begat somehow by Crowley, sure, but snakes all the same. Mortal. Temporary. They had already grown so much in so short a span of time. A stitch ripped free in his waistcoat, and Aziraphale felt Crowley pry his hands out of his clothing to grasp Crowley’s hands instead with their twin bone-crushing grips. He didn’t dare open his eyes. He felt Crowley plant his mouth on his temple but he didn’t say anything, nor did he much move as Anathema hummed by the window, watching the children play. Shadwell, Madam Tracy, and Newt were having a quiet conversation over on the other side of the room, but Aziraphale paid them no mind, straining himself instead to hear the children’s laughter and Anathema’s mumblings.

“From what I can tell,” Anathema said a veritable age later, “their auras indicate that they’re half-demon and half-angel, with about the same life span. No telling what their growth and development is going to be like, since they haven’t figured that out for themselves, but they’ll grow up and reach adulthood and live out a normal life by demon and angel standards. Same original stock, after all.” Aziraphale pried his eyes open and gaped at Anathema, who was still looking out the window. His eyes stung horribly.

“Don’t suppose you can tell if they’re affected by holy water or hellfire, can you?” Crowley asked, his voice gravel.

“Looks like they have a certain tolerance for both,” Anathema said thoughtfully. “I assume hellfire is bad news even for demons, but if they’re stuck in it, they have some resistance. Holy water might sting but it won’t kill them.”

Aziraphale felt like he was crumpling in on himself as answers to these old worries were laid at his feet. “Can—can you tell…can you tell what their powers might be? If they have wings? Anything else at all that might be helpful?”

Anathema hummed as she continued to study them, chewing on her thumbnail. “Can’t tell any of that,” she said. “They haven’t decided for themselves yet. A lot of what they are is determined by what they think of themselves, you know. A lot like you two, actually.”

“Huh,” Crowley said.

“Rather,” Aziraphale said.

Anathema looked over at Aziraphale and Crowley and smiled. “I can also tell they’re happy,” she said. “Incredibly happy. And loved.”

“Well, of course they are,” Crowley growled, and Aziraphale burst into tears. It took several quiet minutes in the kitchen breathing into Crowley’s shoulder and holding him for Aziraphale to calm down, and then Crowley’s tear-streaked face set him off all over again.

“We are soppy old baggages, angel,” Crowley croaked as Aziraphale finished wiping his face with a dish towel.

“The soppiest,” Aziraphale agreed, passing him the towel. “We should have had Anathema stop by sooner.”

“Much sooner,” Crowley sniffed. “Alright. Stop smiling like that, you’ll set me off again and I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, taking deep breaths. “Oh, Crowley, we’re not—we don’t have to ever—”

“God willing,” Crowley said, which shocked Aziraphale into a hiccup. Crowley glared at him. “Don’t you ever tell Her I said that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dearest,” Aziraphale said softly, and for good measure kissed his demon as thoroughly as his English sensibilities would allow for their moderate amount of privacy. Perhaps a little more.

When they emerged back into the living room, they found that all their guests were out on the back porch, Madam Tracy beaming as the children put on a rendition of a play they apparently had been formulating with Adam, where Adam was a helpless Prince trapped in a tower guarded by the fierce twin dragons Junior and Datura, and the brave Sir Angelica and Lady Rosa, with Sir Clem riding along Rosa’s shoulders, fought bravely to save the Prince. Junior went slightly off-script at the end when they were taking their final bows with a “And so the brave Knight saved the Prince and then gobbled him up later for no apparent reason!”, which started a row that immediately ruined the applause.

“Junior!” Angelica roared, red-faced.

“What? Father keeps gobbling up Azirafather all the time—”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Crowley said loudly as Angelica stomped her foot, the children laughed, and Madam Tracy, Anathema, and Newt all tittered behind their hands. Shadwell just shook his head.

“Next time,” Shadwell said gravely, “you wee ones would be better off playing at witch-hunting. Much better profession than rescuing princes, that.”

“But, Sergeant Shadwell, witch hunting was rooted in misogyny and classism and racism, why would we want to play that?” Rosa said, and more laughter followed as Shadwell turned purple in the face and stuttered.

“Are you all staying for supper?” Aziraphale asked, clapping his hands rather more loudly than necessary to restore order. “We’d love it if you would.”

“Please!” the children chorused, at least three of them hanging off of Adam’s arms and demanding he stay forever.

“If it’s not a bother, Mr. Aziraphale, you know we’d hate to put you out,” Madam Tracy said, and Aziraphale smiled warmly.

“Not at all, Madam Tracy, I would love for you to stay a little longer,” Aziraphale promised.

“I can help, I’m alright in the kitchen,” Anathema volunteered, and as she and Crowley walked into the house to start fussing over what to make, Aziraphale took a last look at his family in the back garden. Adam was now teaching them some new dance he’d picked up from the Interwebs or some such, except for Rosa, who was deep in conversation with Sergeant Shadwell and Newt about the ethics of witch hunting (which was more Rosa bombarding them with facts she’d inhaled about the subject and asking Shadwell if they were true, and Shadwell going increasingly puce as he was forced to confront some of his more backwards views at the hands of an adorable little girl with white-gold curls, and Newt not bothering to help him in the slightest but instead staring amazed down at her. _That’s my girl_, Aziraphale thought fondly).

Aziraphale hadn’t prayed properly in some time, but he did shoot a little missive up to the Almighty full of gratitude for what he was allowed to have as warmth bloomed in his chest. He basked in it for a long moment. Then he went inside to see what he could do to help with dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen this is the Soft Zone and it felt like time for me to personally put my private existential angst over the snabies and their life spans to rest; all angst will wait its turn for, idk, some Summer Blockbuster Angst Fest fic I'm definitely not writing. No permanent drama in my Wiggleverse!


	7. School Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of violence against children by children; Cain and Abel are also mentioned, though not by name.
> 
> It also bears mentioning that I am excruciatingly American and have no idea how British school systems work.

“Mr. Fell?”

“This is he,” Aziraphale said absently, cradling the cottage landline against his shoulder as he kneaded the loaf he was working on. It was _going_ to turn out this time, or so help him—

“We’re calling about your daughter, Angelica, this is her school office—”

“Is she alright?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley, who had been asleep on the couch, sat up and tumbled to his feet in a tangle.

“She’s fine, but some other kids in her class are not,” this particular office lady, whom Aziraphale did not know, said in a tone of voice Aziraphale did not care for. “We would like you and your husband to come to the school so we can discuss her behavior, as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale nodded, smiling at Crowley in as soothing a manner as he could manage while juggling a phone and a lump of bread dough. “We’ll be along directly. Thank you for calling.”

“Have a lovely day, sir.”

“Angelica,” Aziraphale sighed as he hung up the phone, not much caring that he was getting it a bit flour-crusted. “Some kind of scrum with her classmates, it sounds like.”

“Well, what did they do to deserve it?” Crowley frowned. He was starting to loom and that was never good.

“Not sure. We have to go down and talk with the principal about it,” Aziraphale sighed again, putting his loaf back in its bowl and covering it before washing his hands. “I’ll gather the others, if you can start the car. They want both of us.”

“Right,” Crowley grumbled. “She’d better have broken someone’s arm or something if we’re going to all the trouble.”

“Dearest, please,” Aziraphale winced.

It took forty-five minutes to gather the other three children, get them dressed, reassure Clem that his wheelchair was still in the car, and get them loaded into the Bentley. Aziraphale took over pushing Clem up the ramp into the school when they got there, and took point when approaching the office. He was most familiar, as the helmsman of the girls’ paperwork, and his favorite of the office staff was currently manning the front desk.

“Afternoon, Mr. Fell,” Rosanna said brightly, already standing. “You and Mr. Crowley are expected in Mr. Gullins’ office, I’ll watch your other little ones here in the lobby.”

“Thank you, Rosanna,” Aziraphale said, and squeezed Clem’s shoulder. “Children, do be good for Miss Rosanna while Father and I take care of this. We won’t be long, or too far.”

“We’ll know if you try anything, is what Azirafather means,” Crowley snorted as Rosanna exited the office, carrying a tablet with her and smiling. Junior and Datura already knew Rosanna and were comfortable enough sandwiching her in between them while she pulled up some game or another on the tablet. Clem took a little extra reassurance, but with Datura and Junior both holding his hands, he seemed content enough as Aziraphale led Crowley into the depths of the office towards the principal’s.

Within view of the principal’s office was the nurse’s station, which had three boys sitting in the chairs outside of it: one was hunched and protecting his middle, one had a cut across his forehead, and one had a sizable bandage around his wrist. Aziraphale remembered seeing all three of them in the girls’ class and felt a slinking curl of dread in his stomach. He reached for Crowley’s hand without thinking and found Crowley more than receptive to the touch. The principal’s door was open, but his desk was near the far wall and not visible before they entered. Sitting in front of the desk were three chairs, in the middle one of which sat Angelica, her back to them as they came in. Her hair was a wreck, and as she turned to see who had come in, Aziraphale was horrified to see that her face was bruised, especially around her nose.

“What on earth happened?” Aziraphale cried, bustling to Angelica’s side, Crowley in tow, tilting her face up for inspection. Crowley made a sort of growl and pushed her white streak of hair back from her forehead, hand shaking but gentle.

“Messrs. Fell-Crowley, excellent,” the principal, a meaty sort of man Aziraphale had talked to once or twice, said with a pleasant sort of smile. “Please have a seat, Angelica is perfectly alright. Nothing more troublesome than a nosebleed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Crowley hissed, picking up one of Angelica’s hands and inspecting the dirt beneath her nails. Angelica submitted to Crowley’s inspection without a single fuss, which pinged Aziraphale immediately as strange.

“Our nurse has already looked her over, she’s fine now,” Mr. Gullins soothed. “Please do sit. We have to talk about what happened.”

Aziraphale sat on one side of Angelica’s chair. Crowley sat on the other. Angelica pulled one of her grass-stained knees up to hug it to her chest. Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap. Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and flung out his legs, one jumping irritably.

“From what I’ve gathered,” Mr. Gullins said, in the tone of voice of a school administrator who had just had several tiresome conversations and was anticipating several more, “a few of the boys in her class were pretend sword-fighting with sticks, and Miss Angelica here,” Mr. Gullins looked over his glasses at her sternly, “tried to show them how it’s done, more or less.”

“Am I here because some hooligans beat my daughter with a stick?” Crowley said, deadly quiet.

“You’re here because your daughter beat some classmates with a stick,” Mr. Gullins corrected.

“They started it,” Angelica muttered. “They were teasing me and wouldn’t let me play. So I showed them what they were doing wrong. Then they got mad. That’s when the hit me with the sticks. So I hit them with a stick back.”

“Of course, the boys will be facing discipline, as well,” Mr. Gullins said hurriedly. “I think we can all agree that all parties involved were in the wrong—”

“No,” Crowley growled. “She was defending herself. They started it.”

“And she finished it,” Mr. Gullins said with a weak smile. Crowley pulled Angelica from her chair into his lap, caging her in protectively with his limbs. Aziraphale sighed quietly.

“What discipline are you suggesting?” Aziraphale asked.

“All children involved, according to witnesses, hit at least one other child, so two days’ suspension is what we’re starting with,” Mr. Gullins said. Aziraphale thought he looked nervous and also thought he was right to be so. “Angelica hit three other people, so she would be out for an extra two days. Considering one of the boys’ mothers is on the school board and is calling for her outright expulsion—”

“But they started it!” Angelica burst out. “There were three of them, and one of me!”

“What exactly do you want me to teach my kid? Not to defend herself?” Crowley snapped, holding her a little tighter.

“I would suggest she should have gotten a teacher, rather than taking up arms, so to speak,” Mr. Gullins said loudly. “I am also curious as to how your daughter knows how to swordfight, at her age. One of our teachers is a former fencer and was very impressed with her technique—though, again, to use it in such circumstances—”

“That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said, thinking quickly. It most certainly was not, but they could sort that out later. “I’m inclined to agree with my partner, however, this seems an extreme reaction to one small girl defending herself against three boys.”

“Suspension is as light a sentence as we can manage,” Mr. Gullins grimaced. “The children are all hurt and are all at fault. What we would rather they all learn is to trust school authority rather than their own strength.”

The twin snorts from both Crowley and Angelica were rather more adorable to Aziraphale than he suspected they were to Mr. Gullins.

“Rest assured, we will be speaking to her about…about appropriate reactions,” Aziraphale said. “I assume we can bring her back next week, when her sentence is over?”

“Right,” Mr. Gullins nodded, and stood to shake their hands. “Her schoolwork will be sent home with her sister each day.”

“Splendid,” Aziraphale smiled, meeting the handshake. “We won’t keep you, then, you have three more sets of parents to talk to, I believe.”

“Yes,” Mr. Gullins sighed. Crowley stood, Angelica in his arms, and ignored the offered handshake, saying nothing as he stalked out. Aziraphale smiled apologetically and followed.

Aziraphale took care of checking Rosa out, as well, while Crowley collected the others and stomped out to the Bentley, Junior pushing Clem, as Crowley seemed incapable of putting Angelica down for the moment, and Angelica seemed uninclined to walk on her own, her arms and legs wrapped around her father. Rosa came down to the office with Angelica’s school bag and coat under her arm. She smiled when she saw Azirafather but didn’t ask what was wrong; she seemed to have worked it out on her own.

The drive home was quiet, the children saying little and Crowley drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly thinking something over but saying nothing.

“Angelica,” Aziraphale said as they pulled into the drive, “I should like a word with you in the library.”

“Yes, Azirafather,” Angelica said softly.

“Go on in, we’ll catch up,” Crowley said, flicking his wrist and opening up the front door. The children piled out of the car and into the house. Crowley and Aziraphale sat in silence for a minute.

“Are you teaching her to swordfight?” Crowley asked.

“I thought about it,” Aziraphale admitted. “I hadn’t yet, I wanted to wait until they were older.”

“Huh.” Crowley scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Seems you don’t have to.”

“Seems I don’t,” Aziraphale nodded. That…saddened him, for some reason. He should have liked to have something to teach the children, even if he personally had complicated feelings about his own fighting abilities. It was still something intrinsically a part of him, as much as he wished otherwise most times. “Powers, do you think?”

“Seems like it,” Crowley grunted. “Suppose we’re lucky she didn’t freeze time again. Or summon fire.”

“Lord, don’t say that, Crowley,” Aziraphale shivered. “The last thing we need is the children drawing attention because they hurt someone like that.”

“Mm.” Crowley slunk down in his seat. “Suspension. That’s what they’re doing, these days? I seem to recall when caning was all the rage.”

“Corporal punishment isn’t exactly in vogue in childcare anymore,” Aziraphale shook his head. “Thank goodness.”

“So.” Crowley fiddled with the steering wheel. “How’re we doing this one?”

“Time and place for when to strike back, I think,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “I…I think we should explain that she was not in a life-or-death situation, and had other options available and should’ve explored them before physically fighting back.”

“They attacked her,” Crowley frowned.

“And if she had run away and gotten a teacher, we would have gotten a call that she was attacked and would have had more of a leg to stand on,” Aziraphale sighed. “She fought back, so in the school’s eyes, she’s just as bad as they are. Even if they did deserve whatever butt-kicking she gave them.”

“It’s still so funny to hear you talk like that,” Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale smiled back. Crowley’s smile faded. “I don’t like telling her not to defend herself.”

“We’re not saying that,” Aziraphale said. “If she were attacked by, say, ninja assassins, who were not her schoolmates and thus not beholden to any other authority, I would say she absolutely should give them a piece of her mind and her stick. But they weren’t ninja assassins, they were three boys who thought they knew better and were upset she showed them up.”

“A boy with a stick can still do damage, angel,” Crowley said. “Or…say…a big rock. Bashed against his brother’s head. Repeatedly.”

“Yes, dear, I do remember, I was also there,” Aziraphale snapped, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“No, you did,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale felt it appropriate to flick his grinning snake demon husband on the nose. “I…think I see your point. Time and place.”

“Time and place,” Aziraphale nodded. Then he leaned over and kissed Crowley on the mouth.

“What was that for?” Crowley asked, a bit breathlessly, a few minutes later.

“Just realized I hadn’t done it in a while,” Aziraphale smiled, and kissed Crowley again. “You looked ever so parental, with Angelica on your lap in the principal’s office. Made my heart warm, how _nice_ you are.”

“Don’t go spreading that around,” Crowley muttered, and kissed Aziraphale’s nose before getting out of the car. “That principal could use a good scare, in my opinion.”

“Leave the man alone, he has a difficult job,” Aziraphale scolded. “Are you coming in with me?”

“Sure,” Crowley nodded, and followed Aziraphale inside and into the library, where Angelica was rooting around in his spare biscuit tin. She guiltily took her hand out of it when Aziraphale entered the room, though left the tin wide open and ruffled-through next to her. Aziraphale stifled his smile.

“One,” he said, and Angelica obligingly took a single biscuit from the tin. “There. Now. First things first, young lady: where did you learn to swordfight?”

“Dunno,” Angelica shrugged. “Just sort of knew it.”

“That’s very much what I feared,” Aziraphale said, and Angelica looked up at him with big blue eyes that entirely cracked his heart into pieces.

“How much trouble am I in?” she asked.

“Over knowing how to swordfight? None at all,” Crowley shrugged, leaning against the wall. “If you’re good during your suspension, maybe your angel dad will show you a few new moves.”

Angelica looked with wide eyes at Aziraphale, who did his best not to preen under the attention, it was unbecoming.

“Yes, well,” he said briskly, “I shan’t do any such thing if you’re going to use your abilities to hit others.”

“Even if they hit me first?” Angelica challenged. Aziraphale sank into his chair with a sigh and held out a hand to draw Angelica to him, leaning against his knees and close enough to let Aziraphale run his fingers through her wrecked curls, pulling out pieces of mulch and grass.

“Your opponents were children,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Untrained, and I’m assuming outrunnable, unless I’ve been mistaken at your football games.”

Angelica flushed, toying with her white streak of hair. “Just sort of did it,” she mumbled. “Didn’t have much time to do anything else. It all happened so quickly.”

“If you are in real danger, of course I want you to protect yourself, and others who can’t protect themselves,” Aziraphale said. “But there’s a time and a place, my dear. A schoolyard is no place for violence. A teacher’s position is such that they are forced to punish all participants in a fight, whether or not it was a fair fight, or if someone was defending themselves. If you fight back, you are punished. That’s how school systems work.”

Crowley shifted against the wall but said nothing. Aziraphale sighed through his nose. “It is what it is, I suppose. Sometimes we have to work within the system to survive it, even if we don’t like it.”

“So next time I should run and get a teacher,” Angelica said.

“Precisely,” Aziraphale nodded. “I think being suspended from school is punishment enough for this scenario, what do you think, darling?”

“More than enough,” Crowley grunted. “Go on and play.”

“Azirafather, can you teach me more about swordfighting?” Angelica asked, and Aziraphale smiled at her pleading gaze.

“Later, my little spitfire,” Aziraphale said, kissing Angelica’s forehead and sending a wave of healing through her. Besides the bruised nose, there were other various scrapes and bruises all over her body, which all mended easily under his touch. He was glad for the week-long suspension; her healing would go unnoticed, and he hated the thought of her carrying those bruises longer than necessary, though he knew Angelica regarded them more as badges of honor. She hugged him, and scampered out the library door.

“Think they’ll all be begging for swordfighting lessons, after this,” Crowley remarked, and Aziraphale sighed.

“I did say I had been considering teaching them,” Aziraphale said. “Some form of defense, at least. Some swordfighting, some hand-to-hand. Basics.”

“Easy to forget you know so much about that,” Crowley said, crossing the room and digging in the abandoned biscuit tin himself. Aziraphale swatted his hand away and put the tin on the lid, but not before Crowley had come away with a prize, grinning smugly about it.

“I was a guardian, dear heart,” Aziraphale said gently. “It’s what I was made to do, not who I am.”

“Part of you, all the same,” Crowley shrugged. He leaned over and gave Aziraphale another kiss, sugar-sweet. “Love it about you anyway.”

Crowley walked from the room, and Aziraphale sagged in his chair and let himself float away for a moment, just for a bit back in the training grounds of Heaven and swishing around his flaming sword for the first time. Then he thought about Angelica managing to set her stick on fire before beating her classmates with it and shuddered.

Then he remembered his forgotten bread loaf in the kitchen and bustled back to it. If this one turned funny because he’d had to step away from it, he would be ever so cross. The problem of Angelica swordfighting could be put away for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've worked in childcare for five years with school-age children and have been the voice of authority in this situation many times, and every time I hate it. (Sometimes you just want to see the bullies get theirs, y'know?)
> 
> Didn't quite mean for this chapter to brush up against Aziraphale's Nightmare in Summer Blockbuster Angst Fest quite as much as it does but here we are.


	8. An Experiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 1000% Jeslieness' fault. (And...well...I meant it to be cute. I think I took a wrong turn somewhere. Read some more excellent Jeslieness meta about the snabies and their attachment issues. Realized certain parallels I was making to certain topics. Might have chickened out of making it longer like it deserved. Oh well.)

It started with an observation Rosa made while out grocery shopping with Azirafather. She was holding the handle of the trolley like she was told, and noticed nearby an older kid from school, standing by his own trolley and making faces at a baby sitting inside of it that had to be a younger sibling, they looked too similar to each other. Rosa frowned in concentration as she watched, then looked up at Azirafather.

“Azirafather?”

“Hmm?” Azirafather hummed, weighing two brands of pasta in his hands and comparing their nutritional information.

“How did you make me and the others?”

“I told you, darling,” Azirafather looked at her, puzzled. “Your father played a prank—”

“No, I know,” Rosa said, “but _how_? How did you make us?”

Azirafather stared at her, brow furrowed, lips pursed. “Well,” he said slowly, “I…I just…rather…expected you to be there. So you were. I can’t really explain how it works, my dear.”

“I see,” Rosa said. “Get the blue box, Father likes the texture of their linguine better.”

“Ah.” Azirafather made his selection and smiled at her. “Yes, I see. Thank you, Rosa.”

As with most things, Rosa carried her budding hypothesis to her siblings later on.

“Do you think Father and Azirafather could make more babies like us?” Rosa asked once their evening game of Spaceship had lulled.

_Why? Are they replacing us?_ Clem hid his head under his coils.

“No, silly, I just wonder if they could do it again,” Rosa shrugged. “A lot of people in my and Angelica’s class have little siblings. I got curious.”

“Father said he started with ping-pong balls,” Datura said thoughtfully. “If Azirafather can make us from that, I wonder if they could do it from other types of balls.”

“Bet the one they’d hatch from Angelica’s football would be enormous,” Junior said, and Datura grinned.

“But I like my football,” Angelica pouted.

“If it works, they’ll get you another one,” Rosa reasoned. “After they figure out stuff for our new baby sibling.”

“Ooh! They could stay in my room!” Junior waved his hand.

“We’ll try it out tomorrow,” Datura said, smiling and getting a gleam of scientific intrigue in their eye. “Put our terrariums on the table and see if it works.”

.

Crowley woke up late to the sweet sensation of angel kisses on his cheek. He knew it was late just because he could hear the spawn talking at full volume and excited about something in the kitchen nearby, and Aziraphale looked down at him with a bemused expression.

“I’d have let you sleep longer, dearest, but you really must come see what the children are up to,” Aziraphale said gently. Crowley yawned, rubbed his eyes, and rolled out of bed.

He stopped dead in the kitchen doorway and blinked, amazed, at the sight of four snake tanks sitting on the counters, each containing different sports balls. Datura was writing industriously on a clipboard while Junior and Clem cheered on four tennis balls nestled in one tank. Angelica was pouting and glancing at her football, stuck in another. Rosa ran back and forth between the tank containing a large handful of marbles, and the one hosting two rugby balls looking like they’d been salvaged from a neighbor’s hedge.

“What’s…all this, then?” Crowley asked.

“Father!” Rosa cried, hustling at him. “Come on, we need you and Azirafather!”

“We’re seeing if you can make more babies how you made us,” Datura explained as Rosa dragged Crowley into the room, and Crowley latched onto Aziraphale. If Crowley was going down, Aziraphale was going down with him.

“Er,” Crowley said.

“We’re also wondering if the size of the ball matters,” Datura continued. “So go on, do what you did last time.”

“Erm,” Aziraphale said. Crowley looked at him, and Aziraphale looked back at Crowley. Crowley couldn’t tell what he was thinking—there was amusement, yes, but…did Aziraphale maybe want more kids? Crowley could say with emphatic certainty that he personally did _not_. One would have been enough of a shock, but five was quite enough. Crowley loved them more than anything, but more babies? His stomach churned.

“Right.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, and Crowley’s throat did the same. Aziraphale hummed. Crowley didn’t feel a miracle or anything. Was he doing it? Had he done it? Crowley’s palms felt clammy and sweaty and he chewed on his lip.

Aziraphale eventually opened his eyes and smiled. “There. Now we’ll see if it works,” he said. “Off you pop, now, children, you can check back in on them later.”

There was protest, which Aziraphale quelled with a promise of biscuits later, and then the kitchen was empty and silent again. Crowley counted to three before letting himself look at his angel. Aziraphale’s smile took on a panicked edge as soon as Crowley’s eyes met his.

“Listen…angel,” Crowley said, “you…you know I love our kids, and our life together—”

“But no more children?” Aziraphale interrupted, and Crowley sagged.

“Lord, no,” Crowley said weakly, falling into Aziraphale’s arms. “No, no, no. Five is more than enough. People already think we’re weirdly religious.”

“They think I’m weirdly religious,” Aziraphale corrected. “They think you’re a Satanist.”

“Which is a weird religion,” Crowley countered, and Aziraphale huffed. Crowley smiled and felt the answering smile against his shoulder. “We can…I dunno, invest in pets or something. If the kids really want more family.”

“Maybe when they’re older,” Aziraphale shrugged. “I’m quite content with what we have.”

“More than content,” Crowley nodded.

.

“I don’t think they’re hatching,” Junior observed. Father and Azirafather had allowed them to gently move the tanks to the greenhouse, and Rosa and her siblings had been checking on them every hour without fail for the last several days.

“Well, you don’t know how long it takes,” Rosa retorted. Datura reached in and put their palm flat on the football.

“They’re not doing anything,” they sighed. “It didn’t work.”

“Let’s go ask Azirafather,” Rosa said. “Maybe we did something wrong.”

_You don’t think we…we killed them, do you?_ Clem asked anxiously as they filed into the house, wound comfortably around Junior’s shoulders. Rosa’s heart dropped. She hadn’t considered that idea.

“Azirafather!” Angelica called loudly, leading the pack as always to wherever he was—the library, as it turned out, with Father draped over his shoulders as easily as if he were limbless.

“Yes, my darlings?” Azirafather asked, then frowned when he noticed their faces. “Goodness, whatever is the matter?”

“Did we kill the eggs?” Junior blurted, and Rosa clasped her hands to her chest to try and still her heart. Azirafather’s face softened further, and he looked at Father, who sighed.

“No, spawn, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Father said, looking up. “You lot are a one-in-a-million-billion legitimate miracle. I doubt God would let it happen the same way twice.”

“Why? She likes us,” Rosa frowned.

“Be that as it may,” Azirafather snorted, “where would we put another set of younger siblings, if the balls had turned into eggs again?”

“My room,” Junior said.

“The garage,” Datura suggested.

_A bigger house,_ Clem offered.

“Alright, but think about it,” Father said, getting a sly sort of smile on his face. “If there were younger siblings…Azirafather and I wouldn’t pay as much attention to the lot of you.”

“What?” Angelica cocked her head.

“Oh, no, I suppose we wouldn’t,” Azirafather sighed. “We’d have to give all our love and attention to the new babies. We’d still love you, of course, nothing will ever change that, but you’d have to share Father and I with more young ones.”

“I don’t want to,” Junior said immediately.

“Well, if those balls become eggs…” Father trailed off suggestively, and Rosa grimaced. She hadn’t fully thought this through, it seemed.

“Yuck,” Datura said.

“I’m going to go get my football back!” Angelica said, and raced out of the room.

_Please don’t replace us, Azirafather,_ Clem hissed pitifully, half-unwinding from Junior’s neck to stretch for Azirafather and Father. Junior walked him closer and threw his arms around Azirafather’s leg. Rosa took Father’s left leg, Datura his right.

“Never,” Azirafather said, stroking Clem’s head and Junior’s hair. Angelica stomped back in and threw herself on Azirafather’s lap, snuggling aggressively. “You never have to worry about that, children, I promise. Even if—somehow—you did get younger siblings, Father and I love you so much.”

“I think our family’s just right,” Father said quietly, and Rosa hugged him harder. Alright. Curiosity sated.

“I wonder if we would make babies like that,” Datura said, and Father stiffened before laughing nervously.

“Let’s not test that for a long, long, _long_ time, alright?”

“Okay, Father,” Rosa said, and let that be that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider this an open invitation to anyone wanting to tackle the idea of the snabies trying to make themselves more sniblings: GO FOR IT. This is, as always, an open sandbox world, and you can never have too many cakes--er--variations on the same theme.


	9. A Nervous Noodle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also Jeslieness' fault, and also OlwenDylluan's, and all of you need to stop being such horrible enablers (don't you ever stop). There was a discussion about Clem being the anxious lil cutie pie he is and so I had to write it right now immediately, obviously. Clem Protection Squad, you're on deck, friendos.

Clematis was a quiet soul.

He was two weeks old and watching quietly as his siblings played pirate ships with the teacups Father had snuck out for them while Azirafather was somewhere else—shopping, that’s right, Father said he was shopping, and when asked what for, said “stuff, do you lot want to play a new game?”

Clem liked the cool smooth china against his belly scales and he liked the plinking sound the china made when he bumped his snout against it. He thought Anthony was funny when he tried to talk all pirate-like and Angelica was very brave when she lashed out of her teacup to fight Father with a toothpick sword, but he was feeling like a nap was in order, tucking his teeny head in his coils and drifting off to sleep.

He woke up chilly and in a quiet room, and when he poked his head up over the rim of his teacup, the other teacups were still there, but empty.

_Father?_ he called. _Father, where are you?_

No answer.

Clem slipped over the edge of the teacup with some effort, trailing over the rug and calling for Father. There was a chant in his head starting up that had never been there before, but was sure getting loud now: _they forgot you, they forgot you, you’re not important, they left you._

_Father!_ Clem cried, louder than he ever had before, and heard footsteps down the stairs before Father’s big form came his way, almost passing over him before skidding to a halt and dropping to his knees to pick Clem up. Clem wriggled on Father’s warm palm, trying not to cry but sniffling a little.

“There, there, spawn, it’s alright, I thought we’d just let you sleep for a while,” Father said gently, cradling Clem to his chest and walking him over to the tank, where his siblings were also curled up asleep. “You’re alright, Clem, promise.”

_You didn’t f-forget me?_ Clem sniffled.

“Never,” Father said, and booped Clem’s nose with his own. “Promise.”

_Okay._ Clem curled up in a ball. _Father, can you hold me?_

“Sure,” Father said, switching from the tank to the couch and laying down on it, placing Clem on his chest, where Clem could hear his big heartbeat through his shirt. Soon enough Clem felt much calmer and wound himself back up to sleep again while Father played on his funny sleek box.

This was Clem’s first big scare, but unfortunately it wasn’t the last.

When Angelica came home from the museum, smugly triumphant about her little adventure, Clem was the only one who was more aghast than impressed.

_You ran away?_ he gasped. Angelica puffed out her chest and nodded. _But…what if you’d gotten lost? What if Father didn’t find you?_

_I can take care of myself,_ Angelica declared. _I was still in the museum, it’s not like I went all that far away._

_But what if you’d been stepped on or picked up by a bird or—_

_You worry too much,_ Angelica said, tickling his snout with her tongue. _I’m fine, and it was fun, and adventures are cool!_

Clem considered this carefully, then looked across the bookshop to Azirafather’s desk. When Azirafather came to check on them, Clem was sitting on the desk with an antique compass Azirafather seemed to have forgotten about in a drawer, trying to divine its secrets.

“Whatever are you doing, Clem?” Azirafather asked.

_Trying to find N,_ Clem said. _N is the top, right?_

“In a manner of speaking,” Azirafather said, with the sort of smile that looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Why do you need to find N?”

_So I don’t get lost,_ Clem informed him.

“Oh, my boy,” Azirafather said tenderly, half-cupping his hand around Clem in what they had come to know was a hug. “Father and I will always find you in the unlikely event you become lost.”

_But if I got lost, I want to be able to find me, too,_ Clem said, half-draping himself over Azirafather’s hand and giving him the tiniest of snake kisses. _Can you help me?_

“Of course,” Azirafather nodded, scooting up in his chair. “Let’s see if I remember how to use this thing.”

The compass stayed in Clem’s possession long after his fears about needing to use it had been put more or less to rest.

When the time for his first solo outing came, Clem returned to Azirafather’s desk and returned with a roll of tape looped around his tail.

“What’s that for?” Father asked as Clem began tearing off long strips and laying them across his back.

_Give me your sleeve, Father,_ Clem said, and when Father bemusedly complied, Clem slithered around his wrist, then laid the excess of his tail across Father’s sleeve and began flattening the tape down. _So you don’t lose me, see?_

“Ah,” Father said, and helped Clem smooth down the tape tabs. He seemed unable to form more words, but when they went on their drive, Father answered every time Clem reminded him that Clem was still there.

On the second outing, when Clem got the tape, Azirafather gently told him that so long as he was wrapped around Father’s wrist tight (but not too tight, didn’t want to hurt Father), he should be able to avoid falling off or getting lost.

By the time they moved into the cottage, Clem was longer and thicker around than his siblings, more comfortable draped around shoulders than wrists, and a bit harder to misplace than he’d been as a little noodle. Clem would deny all accusations that he made himself grow to this size on purpose, but it didn’t hurt, he reasoned. He waited a few moments, then poked the side of Father’s jaw with the end of his tail.

“Hmm?” Father grunted, squinting at the laundry detergent he was considering.

_Just reminding you that I’m still here, Father,_ Clem said, and did his best to smile when Father rubbed the top of his head with a finger, a chuckle working its way up Father’s chest.

“I know you are, spawn,” Father said. “I’m here, too.”

Father probably meant it as a joke but Clem rested his head on Father’s shoulder and reflected that yes, Father certainly was here, too, and wasn’t that wonderful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to be a little guy in a big world, especially when your brain tells you things that aren't true.


	10. A Family Outing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have been sitting on this for about a month; started it, had a mental breakdown, finally finished it, you know how these things go. Inspired by Lornicera_caprifolium drawing Aziraphale in a lovely pinafore dress, every drawing of femme Crowley that pinkpiggy93 has ever done, kickstarted back to life by WhiteleyFoster's pride print, and as always, kept going by the Wiggleverse fam and the Good Omens good vibes. Y'all are treasures. <3

“Come on, spawn, or we’ll be late,” Crowley barked up the stairs.

“Really, my dear, we can’t be late for an outing at the park,” Aziraphale’s amused voice sounded behind her, and Crowley snorted, adjusting the lapels of her leather jacket.

“Can so,” Crowley replied, turning. “It’ll be late afternoon before we get there and we’ll have to leave early and the children will sulk and—and…and…” Crowley lost the rest of her sentence as Aziraphale materialized, clad in a soft beige pinafore over a squashy jumper, a wide-brimmed sun hat perched on his curls. His eyes twinkled at her as he did a twirl, the skirt of his dress flaring out, and Crowley saw no recourse but to gather her spouse up in her arms and hold him immediately.

“I take it you like it?” Aziraphale asked.

“S’not fair,” Crowley moaned, rubbing her cheek against the plush weave of the jumper. “You look good in anything.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Aziraphale said mildly, disentangling one of Crowley’s chandelier earrings from where it had snagged his pinafore. He kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose and giggled when she nuzzled into his cheek, this time purposely smearing her lipstick across his face. “Darling, please, _what_ the neighbors would think of us if we left the house with purple cheeks.”

“They already think we’re weird,” Angelica said, bouncing off the bottom step and startling her parents. “So are you Mum and Angel Mum today?”

“Whatever you think, dear one,” Aziraphale said. Angelica thought about it, then shrugged.

“We’re already so used to Father and Azirafather, I don’t think it really matters which we call you,” Angelica said. “Unless you care.”

“I don’t,” Aziraphale shook his head.

“Whichever, spawn,” Crowley shrugged. She hadn’t really been worried about changing up her gender presentation around the kids, all told, but it was nice that even after going to public school their opinions about how Crowley looked only extended so far as to beg her to leave off lavishing her angel with amorous attention in public. Crowley wondered with great amusement whether Angelica would still find her parents being “lovey-dovey” hugely embarrassing even after she’d grown up, and found that she hoped that was the case, if only to have something to rile Angelica up about that was harmless.

Angelica finished tying her shoes and danced impatiently by the front door, her football under her arm. Junior rocketed down a few moments later, tripping on the stairs and soaring impressively far, only to be caught by Aziraphale, swishing skirts the only indication that Aziraphale had moved four feet to the left faster than he should have been able to.

“Thanks, Azirafather,” Junior chirped, and wriggled. “Lemme down, gotta get shoes on!”

“Slow down, young man, before you hurt yourself,” Aziraphale admonished, and threw Crowley an exasperated look when Junior zipped away at top speed. Crowley grinned and shrugged.

Clem rode down in his basket a few minutes later and curled up over Junior’s shoulders, the added weight and need to be careful finally pumping the brakes on Junior’s restless legs, and Rosa came down soon after, the bow in her hair a little lopsided but otherwise looking neat and orderly with a book under her arm. Datura was the last down, walking as if they would love nothing more than to turn back around and hide in their room. Crowley frowned and looked over Datura’s outfit, usually the cause of their anxieties, and found nothing objectionable or even bold—leggings, tied plaid shirt around the waist, mismatched socks, oversized t-shirt that had certainly been in Crowley’s closet, once upon a time.

“Datura? Whatever is the matter?” Aziraphale asked, which led to Datura looking up from their feet and at what their parents were wearing. Datura’s eyes got huge, and without a word they darted forward to bury their face in Azirafather’s tummy, hugging him hard. Aziraphale oofed and looked to Crowley with a bewildered look, but the hands that brushed through Datura’s waves of hair were tender. “There, there, it’s alright.”

“I know,” Datura mumbled, clinging to Aziraphale’s skirt, and peeked an eye out at Crowley. “I know. I’m okay.”

“Are we going to go sometime today?” Angelica yelled from the front door, and Datura shuddered once, pulling back from Aziraphale and wiping their face. Crowley ruffled their hair as they walked at a sedate pace to where their boots were resting with the rest of the family’s shoes.

“What was that all about, then?” Crowley asked quietly. Aziraphale shrugged.

“Sometimes children need a little encouragement, is all,” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley grinned and held out her arm for Aziraphale to take.

“Yes, alright, keep your hair on, we’re going,” Crowley said loudly, and escorted her angel and their children out to the Bentley for an afternoon drive and park visit.

After what was really about half an hour but must have been a geologic age according to Angelica’s huffs and eye-rolling, the children were released into the wilds of the local park with the admonishment to “stay in visible human sight” ringing in their ears. Crowley and Aziraphale walked hand-in-hand to a bench and sprawled into it like it was their time-honored place of leisure at St James’ Park, though with much more arms thrown about shoulders and noses nuzzling into cheeks.

“You look so lovely today, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed, toying with one of Crowley’s loose curls.

“There’s that pot and kettle talk again,” Crowley grinned, allowing herself one smacking kiss against Aziraphale’s mouth before turning half her attention back out to the playground. There were a couple of families out already enjoying the day, and there wasn’t an immediate explosion, so Crowley assumed none of the other families belonged to the horrible little bullying snipes her daughters had to put up with at school. Shame, really, she could use some further entertainment, but Aziraphale flopping the brim of his hat to somewhat shade her face so they could snuggle better was alright.

Between the sun and the warm bulk of Aziraphale in her arms, Crowley hadn’t even realized she’d dozed off until she felt Aziraphale tense up, almost out of her embrace entirely.

“What?” she slurred, struggling upright, and Aziraphale placed a hand on her knee and gestured his head towards where the children were presumably playing. Crowley shook herself more fully awake and took it in—it just looked like all five kids were having a conversation with two of the others near the swing set. Crowley squinted and attuned her hearing.

“—but sometimes she’s Mother instead of Father, or Father even though they don’t like He or She,” Rosa was explaining. “And Azirafather is usually a he but sometimes he changes it up. It just depends.”

“On what?” one of the random kids asked.

“Whatever they feel like, I suppose,” Rosa shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense,” the other random kid said. “I wanna know more about your wicked snake, though, what’s he?”

“He’s our brother,” Angelica sniffed, petting Clem’s head from where it was draped on her shoulder.

“That’s weird,” the first kid said.

“Weird and cool,” the second kid added. “Can he crush things in his jaws?”

There was a moment of silence, in which Crowley heard Clem’s faint voice say something, and all of Crowley and Aziraphale’s children cracked smiles.

“He said he could if he wanted to, but he’s a gentleman, so he won’t,” Rosa said.

“Your family’s so weird,” the first kid concluded.

“Wish our family was weird,” the second kid said. “All we’ve got’s each other and a cranky old dog. But it’s not even our dog, it’s our nan’s dog, it’s just that nan can’t take care of it anymore so it lives with us.”

“What?” Crowley repeated, more softly, and Aziraphale sighed and relaxed back into her.

“Nothing,” he said, “only—only sometimes, you know, the conversation doesn’t…quite go like that.”

“Yeah.” Crowley resettled her arms around Aziraphale. “Think it’ll be fine, though. New generations are getting better all the time about it.”

“It’s ever so cruel that it—it had to be that way at all, for a time,” Aziraphale said, and his heartbroken little sigh wound something painfully tight in Crowley’s chest. She held her angel close and breathed through it all, his old pain and hers.

“It’s getting better,” Crowley repeated. “It is. As hard and painful and scary as the world is…well. Saved it for a reason, after all, didn’t we.”

“We did,” Aziraphale nodded, looking out at their children, now engaging in a rigorous hide-and-seek game with their new friends. “And…I’m finding new reasons to keep protecting it every day, it seems.”

“Not hard, once you start looking,” Crowley said, and yawned. “Think I might nap some more.”

“Rest, darling,” Aziraphale said gently. “I’m keeping watch.”

How could Crowley do aught but rest soundly, with such a promise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride, Wiggleverse. Stay healthy, stay strong. <333


	11. An Awkward Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, not the awkward question you're probably thinking of.
> 
> This is the last of my Snektember overstock, and a very merry Snektember it was, too :P Warnings for a sad Father and an effusion of endearments.

“Father?”

“Hmm?” Crowley mumbled, only half-hearing what was being said to him, being more engrossed in the spread of tools before him and the broken pipe he was endeavoring to fix.

“Why are snakes always the bad guys?”

“Why—what?” Crowley jerked his head up to more fully focus his attention on Rosa, who was sitting on the edge of the counter and staring at her knees.

“Why are snakes always the bad guys?” Rosa repeated to her skirt. “In...in books and movies and things.”

“Well,” Crowley said, and sighed. “Well. Likely my fault, that.”

“Some kids at school noticed my and Angelica’s eyes are a little different,” Rosa said softly. “And they said...they said we must be evil. Since we have snake eyes.”

Crowley’s heart broke.

“I...” he swallowed, and Rosa looked up, concerned. “Spawn, I’m...”

What could he say? Sorry, it’s your old man’s fault snakes are seen as evil and cunning, also it’s his fault for being evil and cunning in the first place and that’s why his eyes look like that too? Crowley scrambled. He hemmed. He hawed. And all the while, Rosa’s eyes got bigger and sadder the longer he stayed functionally silent.

“You’re not evil, my darling,” Aziraphale said, swooping out of nowhere and laying one hand on Rosa’s cheek and the other on Crowley’s wrist. “Neither you nor Father are evil. It’s just how the legend of the first Snake in the Garden has shaken out, unfortunately. Anyone who has met a snake, or met you, would know at once you are not evil.”

“I could be,” Rosa said, more petulant but the beginnings of a smile on the edge of her mouth. “I could be awfully evil, if I tried.”

Crowley made another involuntary sound as his throat constricted.

“As evil as is an eclair, my dear one,” Aziraphale said, and booped Rosa’s nose with a fingertip, making her giggle. “Run along, and let us know if the children at school don’t drop the joke, alright?”

“Okay,” Rosa nodded, and shifted down to slither away. Aziraphale waited until the last of Rosa’s pearly white tail slipped out of sight before turning to address the quivering mass of anxious regret that was Crowley.

“The pipe can wait,” Aziraphale murmured, and led Crowley to the back garden, bundling him into the greenhouse with little protest on Crowley’s end. “We’ve been over this. You aren’t evil, my dear.”

“Whether I’m evil or not, doesn’t make a difference,” Crowley croaked. “That’s how I’m seen, and it’s how all snakes are seen, and it’s how the kids are going to be seen now—”

“Which is not your fault,” Aziraphale said sharply. “You can’t control how the narrative is put forward and has been for six thousand years. That narrative protected you for all that time, I will have you know. From Hell.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Crowley growled. “Deceitful, subtle, two-faced, vicious—”

“And to some degree, that’s not entirely false,” Aziraphale interrupted. “Who you were on the job is not always who you are outside of it. I will not have you blame yourself for something that is only tangentially your fault. Nor should you imagine that the children suffer one jot because of you.”

Crowley glared at him. “They do, though.”

“One day of teasing does not mean—”

“Why are snakes the bad guys in books and movies, that was her first question,” Crowley snapped. “And that is my fault, alright? I’m the Serpent of Eden, the originator of sin, the—the first snake ever to give snakes a bad name. On our bellies shall we crawl, and dust shall we eat—”

“Someone ought to tell your stomach, then, because I believe the many hundreds of meals we have shared didn’t get that memo,” Aziraphale said, and despite himself, despite it all, Crowley snorted. Aziraphale drew Crowley into his arms and Crowley, though he half-wanted to continue the fight, let himself be drawn. “Not to mention all the wine. Lord, so much wine.”

“And scotch,” Crowley mumbled. “And enough cake for an entire bucket of lifetimes, if you recall that one time—”

“The point is,” Aziraphale said gently, “that just because western tradition has cast the snake in the role of the villain doesn’t mean that was your intent, or that it’s your fault. If anything it’s the girls’ classmates’ fault for not expanding their horizons and regurgitating whatever drivel they’re told without evidence.” He nudged Crowley’s face with his own. “Such a seeking-out of knowledge is exactly what you managed to give them, after all, with the apple business. Regardless of intent or orders.”

Crowley was not entirely soothed. He doubted that he ever would be. But he was calmed, and that wasn’t nothing. He nuzzled Aziraphale’s cheek and kissed him, because he could.

“Fine,” Crowley said. “Gonna come watch me fix this pipe?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Aziraphale beamed. “Wily, handsome serpent.”

“Alright, now you’re laying it on a bit thick,” Crowley griped, though the way he didn’t immediately let Aziraphale go spoke volumes, especially to one so well read on the subject of Crowley.

“Alluring, ambrosial, brilliant, beautiful, cunning, clever, decadent—”

“Are you going through the whole bloody alphabet, angel?”

“In English, to start,” Aziraphale grinned. Crowley wriggled and squirmed but didn’t try very hard to escape, really. Some would call that progress.

The pipe would get fixed. Eventually.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [String Theory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777006) by [Jeslieness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeslieness/pseuds/Jeslieness)
  * [Snake Room, or Snoom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121681) by [Jeslieness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeslieness/pseuds/Jeslieness)
  * [In Which Instincts Kick In, Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151866) by [OlwenDylluan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan)


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